


somewhere beneath the stars

by cherry (doingcrimes), secondbutton



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Destroy Ending, Dirty Talk, Everyone Is Gay, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rivals to Lovers, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, gay space pirates, the most extreme sort of self indulgence tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 79,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doingcrimes/pseuds/cherry, https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondbutton/pseuds/secondbutton
Summary: Faust doesn’t look as young as the snot-nosed brat Karzan pictured. Dark, intense eyes framed by a face with chiseled features, much more pleasing to the eye than what Karzan has come to expect from his peers; space piracy doesn’t typically attract pretty boys. Though, considering the size of that absolutely tasteless orange armor, calling him a pretty boy would not be accurate.—“Captain Nasri and the Immortals, in the flesh,” Javier’s shit-eating expression is still firmly in place as he nods his chin at the man opposite him. Nasri’s countenance is threatening, what with the armor that blends almost seamlessly against his background, leaving just the eerie silhouette of a human skull staring back at him unerringly and a pistol trained between his eyes. There’s the unmissable aura of strength that rolls off of Nasri, earned through countless battles both won and lost.The pounding in his ears jumps a beat.—somewhere beneath the stars is a one on one roleplay by cherrypistol and secondbutton. Set two years after the Reaper War, the romance revolves around space pirate captains who would kill and die for each other.
Relationships: Javier Agbayani/Karzan Nasri, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 3





	1. NOVERIA

**NOVERIA — 9 FEB 2188 CE — 18:34**

Karzan hates going to Noveria.

The snow blowing into the windshield of the Mako—wobbling precariously on the road with every fierce gust of wind—makes it nearly impossible to see anything clearly. 

It speaks to how unbearable Karzan finds the planet when the weather is far from the sole reason for his disdain.

"Captain," he hears one of his crewmates pipe up from the backseat. "Are we there yet?" 

Although the complaints from his crew certainly don't help endear him to it, either. 

"We weren't there when you asked this question ten seconds ago, Valena," his other crewmate replies dryly. "As you can see, we haven't arrived." 

Karzan glances over his shoulder at one shivering turian and one unsympathetic krogan, beginning to wonder whether he should've spared himself the headache and left Valena behind. At least Kalot is doing him the favor of regulating the complaints while he tries not to drive the three of them right off a snowy cliff.

Then again, Valena's dark gray plates _are_ starting to seem a bit paler, even contrasting her white tattoos. 

"Turret!" she calls out suddenly, pointing toward the left.

Karzan's eyes snap toward the very faintly visible turret in the distance, already shifting the steering wheel and swerving to avoid a rocket aimed right at the side of the Mako. Valena yelps, crashing into Kalot who barely reacts at the collision.

"The tunnel leading to the labs is up ahead," she remarks as Valena collects herself, awkwardly patting down her armor. 

"Wasn't this place supposed to be abandoned?" she mumbles, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Those turrets are likely automated." 

"What, so they just shoot at anything that moves?" 

Kalot sighs. "No, that's not how turrets work. Most modern turrets have built-in scanners—" 

"Gate ahead," Karzan states when they reach the aforementioned tunnel, cutting through the chatter before Kalot can get caught up in some overly-complicated engineering talk. "Kalot?" 

"Already on it." She brings up her omnitool, typing away at it, then frowns. "Captain, we're not the first to get here." 

Karzan frowns deeply. "How so?" 

"The security's been breached before." Kalot presses a single button and the giant gates in front of them instantly lower, revealing the inner parking space and the entrance to the research facility, as well as another vehicle that is definitely not supposed to be here. 

Of course it couldn't be easy. A corporate shithole like this would attract more than just one fly. 

Karzan drives through the gate, mercifully shielding them from the snow before turning the engines off.

"Should we sabotage the other vehicle?" Kalot proposes.

"That would take up too much time," Valena considers, eyeing the other transport. "If they got this far, they must have security measures of their own." 

Karzan has to agree; he'd rather get the blueprints than waste time plotting here. 

"Expect a fight," he states, opening the side door to the Mako and hopping out onto the snow, followed by his two crewmates. He finds the evidence for a breach right in front of his eyes: whoever beat them to it left the entrance wide open.

"Stairs?" Valena groans. "You mean this lab is a creepy basement? Great. Fantastic. Just what I hoped for." 

Karzan gives her a look while Kalot heads down the stairs before them with her shotgun in hand. For a big krogan with bright green plates, her footsteps barely make sound in the snow. 

"Do you want to wait for us in the Mako?" Karzan asks, brows arched, and is met with immediate protest. 

"No, sir!" Valena takes out her assault rifle and hurries after Kalot. "I'm going! I'm definitely going!" 

Karzan sighs, taking his heavy pistol in hand to head in last, walking down the steps into the labs.

—

The seals on his armor and helmet click into place and Javier steps up to Caelus’ shoulder, eyes gazing absently at the icy landscapes zooming past through the windshield. Caelus’ tall, spindly form turns in the pilot’s seat to pierce Javier with a glare. 

“I can’t fucking believe you’re making me go out there, Faust,” Javier hears a series of clicks that he’s learned to interpret as irritation and his lips quirk up in amusement. “The things I do for you.”

“I would do the same for you,” he shoots back breezily. He turns his body so he can regard his first mate with a smirk. “Besides, _you_ try telling Saritia that you want to call off the mission for her precious shields because of a couple snowflakes.”

“Get the shields or there won’t _be_ any more missions,” Saritia’s playful snarl crackles through their comms. 

“See?” Javier laughs. It’s a robust, round sound that comes from his belly. He can feel his adrenaline start to roar and he shakes his limbs and jumps in place a couple of times.

“Hiroto, make sure to keep this one in your scope at all times. Looks like we’re getting an extra wrecking ball action today,” Caelus directs to their third, who’s doing his last minute inspections on their weapons. 

“Copy that,” there’s a bit of excitement in the older man’s voice. Javier loves the feeling of potential and anticipation in the shuttle right before a mission—like watching a massive wave approaching the shore and knowing that you’re about to surf the shit out of it.

“Think we’ve beaten Nasri here?” Javier opens and closes his hands and raises up to his tip toes, up and down, up and down. The electricity in his body seems to bounce on his skin. Caelus side eyes him but doesn’t say anything, already more than used to Javier’s pre-mission tendencies.

“Hard to say,” Saritia answers. “The snow makes detecting other vehicles difficult. Both a blessing and a curse.”

“Thanks Saritia,” Javier admires the way the man runs his ship, but not as much as he enjoys beating him to the loot. It’s been a challengingly fun push and pull the past few months—the Immortals have really been forcing his own crew to step their game up. “I really want to meet this guy and his crew.”

“Not sure if the feeling is mutual,” Caelus scoffs. 

Javier’s quip is interrupted by the shuttle jerking sharply to the side before a rocket flies past the shuttle window. His body immediately tenses around his center of gravity and he plants his feet to stay stable.

“ _Fuck_ Noveria,” Caelus hisses as he rights the shuttle. Javier closes the visor on his helmet and peers more closely at the landscape, eyes attuned for any other weaponry. 

“Hiroto, give me a grenade. Quickly. There’s another one coming up to the left.” Despite his earlier restlessness, now that the shooting’s started, Javier slides easily into his battle mindset and he grins behind his helmet. 

‘ _Let the fun begin_.’

A beat later there are a handful of grenades in his hands. “Keep her steady, Caelus,” he directs as he opens one of the doors.

“Keep her steady—I’m trying to dodge rockets over here!” he hears Caelus’ voice mostly through the comms as the wind rushes past him. 

“Do you want to keep getting shot at or no?” He rears a hand back and pitches a grenade, giving it that extra push with his biotics in order to detonate against the turret. Javier lets out a cackle and a whoop at the explosion before closing the door again.

“See any more, Hiroto?” He’s itching to blow something up again.

“You’re fucking insane,” Caelus reminds him from the front of the shuttle.

“There’s another one to the right, Captain,” Hiroto indulges him.

“Spirits, where is this tunnel,” Caelus resignedly mutters as Javier switches sides and launches grenades (two this time because why the hell not) at a turret before it has a chance to shoot. Hiroto fist bumps him when he hits his target.

When Caelus finally lands the shuttle he pierces Javier with an unimpressed look. “Grenade launcher? Adding to your bag of tricks?”

“Maybe our next mission can be to outfit our shuttle with guns,” Javier clicks his shotgun into place on his back and turns the music on in his helmet.

“Just as long as it’s not somewhere frigid.”

Javier steps off the shuttle with the two others flanking him on either side, all three of them with their weapons firmly in their grip. Stood to reason that if the turrets were active that someone inside expected a fight and Javier is about to give it to them.

Sure enough, there are armed enemies waiting behind the second door that Caelus hacked open. Their armor is a recognizable white and yellow, which tells Javier he can go buck wild. Fuck Cerberus.

Javier clears the first wave by barreling into them with his biotics to disable their shields and disorient them. Whoever was staggering around him got an axe to the neck or chest. Caelus finds cover behind Javier, fingers flying over his omnitool as he launches his combat drones. The drones lure some of the enemies from behind their cover so that Hiroto, who had found an elevated post on the stairs, could snipe them cleanly. 

Javier flashes orange all over the battlefield and their comms crackled with his belly laugh and his taunts intermittently. Following Javier into battle—with his bravado and his chaos and his music—feels like an arcade game. Though it might’ve been distracting to some, his crew is used to it, and even joins in. The white noise of Javier having fun on the battlefield means he’s alive.

When there are no new bodies coming in through the doors, Javier clicks his axe back into its place between his shoulders, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath and rein in the energy at his fingertips. 

“I should’ve known you were about to get into some wild shit when you threw grenades at turrets,” Caelus steps up beside him.

“Did you see me flip off of the wall and behead one of them?” 

“Oh yeah,” Hiroto catches up to them as Caelus works his magic on the door lock. “You’ll have to teach me that one the next time we spar.”

“As soon as we get back on the Kasama,” the door slides open with a whoosh, revealing several rows of research databases. Caelus goes ahead to find the main computer, ever methodical and efficient. Javier and Hiroto stand guard by the door, senses alert in case a new wave of Cerberus crazies want to try their luck. 

—

As Karzan and his crew head further into the labs, the signs of a recent fight couldn’t be more glaring. From the bodies spread out on the floor, some bloodier than others, two things are apparent: first, this whole thing was a set-up, and second, they weren’t the only ones lured in by the bait.

“Cerberus?” Valena says with distaste at the sight of familiar yellow-and-white armor, prodding one of the corpses with a pointed toe. 

“Stop poking the bodies,” Kalot scolds, and Valena retracts her foot like a child caught doing something naughty. Kalot turns to Karzan. “What do you want to do, captain?” 

Seeing as how Cerberus was here waiting for them, there’s a solid chance the blueprints supposedly stored at this facility were an invention to attract them here. But if they _are_ real, Karzan can’t afford to give such a huge advantage away to his competition.

“We follow the plan,” he states.

“Hey,” Valena starts. “Do you think Fau—” 

“Don’t start,” Karzan cuts her off, shooting both her and Kalot a look. “You know the drill, helmets on.” 

It’s partly due to necessity and partly due to reputation; traveling gets much easier when you’re not immediately recognizable. Of course, there are wanted posters out there featuring most of their faces—Karzan’s are rare—but those are scarce and poorly shot, which makes stealth and undercover operations possible despite how much attention the Immortals have gotten lately. 

Besides which, the recognizable skull-like design of their helmets makes for useful intimidation on the battlefield. Smaller fry tend to panic at the sight of them, and causing chaos in the ranks is a surefire way to end any battle as quickly as possible. That is always the goal, after all.

Once all three of them have put their helmets on, Karzan gives the signal. “Head out.” 

As they silently navigate the labs, each having memorized the floor plans, the trail of bodies quickly points to what Karzan would label a carnage rather than a battle. 

“Is that a severed head?” Valena hisses, repulsed by the sight. She walks a little closer to Karzan while they move toward the hallway that should lead to the databases of the facility. 

Karzan scowls beneath his helmet; that’s Faust’s handiwork alright.

As they reach the hallway, all three come to a collective stop: the door at the end of it is wide open. Seems like they were beat to the prize, though perhaps not too late yet.

Kalot taps his shoulder and points to a vent nearby. Karzan aims his helmet pointedly in Valena’s direction, and hears her sigh through the coms before she moves over and climbs on top of a small cabinet to reach the vent. The laser from her omnitool makes quick and quiet work of it, and she slips inside as silently as a ghost. Luckily Karzan had the foresight to bring his two most stealth-oriented crewmates to the mission, or they’d have a tough time ambushing whoever is already inside the room.

He gestures for Kalot to follow, who activates the Tactical Cloak that renders her effectively invisible to the naked eye. Together they quietly approach the open door, hiding behind either side of it against the wall as they wait for Valena to make her grand entrance in about three… two… one…

Then comes the noise of a vent breaking down as Valena drops into the room with a completely unnecessary, “Surprise!” 

Karzan enters first, anticipating someone to be guarding the door on the other side, and he aims the barrel of his pistol at the first face he sees.

Which… is not a face he expects. 

Seeing as others have described him to Karzan before, the man in front of him is certainly recognizable, but Karzan never bothered looking up a picture. Captain Faust has been a thorn in his side these past few months, but nothing more than that—until now. 

Faust doesn’t look as young as the snot-nosed brat Karzan pictured. Dark, intense eyes framed by a face with chiseled features, much more pleasing to the eye than what Karzan has come to expect from his peers; space piracy doesn’t typically attract pretty boys. Though, considering the size of that absolutely tasteless orange armor, calling him a pretty _boy_ would not be accurate.

Behind him Kalot covers him, using her invisibility to ambush the other man guarding the door so Karzan doesn’t end up with a bullet in his back. Valena focuses on the turian at the computer, though it appears even an ambush wasn’t enough to give them the upper hand.

The scimitar aimed at his chest plate would testify that much. At this near-point blank range, even his armor wouldn’t be able to protect him from those bullets.

“Sorry, boys,” Valena says cheerfully, though Karzan can’t see what she’s up to; he has his eyes aimed squarely at Faust. “Thanks for all the hard work, we’ll take over from here!”

—

One second he’s discussing the merits of adding close range grappling to Hiroto’s skillset—the man is a sharpshooter blessed with the Sight but tends to be exposed if his squadmates wander too far—and the next his muscle memory is pointing his Scimitar at an intruder.

Javier maintains his battle ready position, one foot in front of the other and center of gravity balanced as he aims the barrel of his shotgun decisively at the masked figure’s chest. His eyes quickly assess the sleek, all-black armor and the metallic skull helmet. 

Despite the restrained aggression in his stance, Javier’s face slides into a cocky smirk as he registers exactly who this is.

In his peripherals, both of his men are dealing with their own problems. Javier takes particular note of the krogan and his mind runs through all the different ways he’s been trained to incapacitate them. ‘ _Run away, basically, but where’s the fun in that?_ ’

He’s told himself and his crew that if they ever run into the Immortals, that unless it’s truly a life or death circumstance, not to notch any kills. Javier’s always been the type to know everything he can about his enemy, so he’s well familiar with Nasri’s ideologies, methods, and enemies. To snuff out the Immortals’ work would be detrimental to his ultimate goals.

‘ _Still_ ,’ he thinks, as he settles further into his stance and inches forward. ‘Nasri _doesn’t know that_.’

And besides, his _immediate_ goal is to secure these damn shields so his pilot can get off his back about some of his wilder maneuvers.

“Sorry boys,” he hears across the room. “Thanks for all the hard work, we’ll take over from here!”

His eyes flit to Caelus and the turian pointing a gun at him. His first mate’s been in tougher positions so he lets himself focus on the other captain. 

“Captain Nasri and the Immortals, in the flesh,” Javier’s shit-eating expression is still firmly in place as he nods his chin at the man opposite him. Nasri’s countenance is _threatening_ , what with the armor that blends almost seamlessly against his background, leaving just the eerie silhouette of a human skull staring back at him unerringly and a pistol trained between his eyes. There’s the unmissable aura of strength that rolls off of Nasri, earned through countless battles both won and lost. 

The pounding in his ears jumps a beat.

“Didn’t take you for a captain that lets someone else do their dirty work.”

—

Karzan’s finger taps comfortably against the side of the trigger of his gun while his eyes flit down to regard the grin stretched wide on Faust’s face. He looks back up to Faust’s eyes, tilting his head in thought at the obnoxious taunt. 

He suspected that he may have been on Faust’s radar considering the ungodly amount of times they nearly ran into each other, only to miss meeting by a hair’s breadth. What he did not anticipate was how _excited_ Faust seems by finally coming face-to-face with him. Or, face-to-helmet, rather. 

“Hey, you don’t know him, pal!” Valena shoots back, and if Karzan weren’t in the middle of a stand-off he might’ve rolled his eyes. 

“So you _are_ saying he lets others do his dirty work?” Kalot points out dryly.

“Uh…” Valena pauses. “Well—”

“Veris, Targa.” Karzan keeps his gaze trained on Faust. “Quiet.” 

Mercifully, they fall silent. Having their fun is one thing, both of them can recognize when Karzan isn’t in the mood for playing around. Besides which, underestimating their enemies would be a mistake; while Karzan didn’t bother looking for personal information on Faust, he has heard the rumors about Faust’s past in the Alliance, having supposedly boasted quite a high rank before being honorably discharged. It’s something to keep in mind. 

Karzan considers his next course of action. His main goal is to verify the existence of the blueprints and, if they do exist, make off with them. He’s not the only one who would benefit from such technology; advanced shields that can be modified to any ship is something many people from among his network would benefit from.

Taking into account the look on Faust’s face, however, it appears to Karzan as if he’s itching for a fight, so a clean escape isn’t going to happen. He knows the turian, Sevenion, to be Faust’s first mate, but has no idea about the third man present. While Kalot might have matched up well to Sevenion, Valena doesn’t do as well in close quarter combat. 

Fighting them is a risk, one he’ll have to weigh against the value of blueprints that may or may not exist.

That being said, his enemies certainly don’t need to know that he’s still considering the situation.

“We’re walking out with those blueprints,” Karzan states unequivocally to Faust, voice crackling slightly through his helmet; he doesn’t much like the sound, but Nura insists the modulator adds to his ‘menacing’. “How we get them doesn’t matter.” 

Of course, that is the exact moment when what sounds like a dozen footsteps come barreling down the hallway.

“Or not,” Valena mumbles, and for once, Karzan agrees with her.

His instincts were right: they walked right into a trap.

—

He sighs a little, almost disappointed that his little standoff with Nasri is cut short by hostiles. His eyes run from his helmet and down his armor one last time before he readjusts his stance.

“Faust—” Caelus speaks up behind him, irritation and urgency in his subvocals. “There are no fucking blueprints.”

“Goddammit.” The steps echo louder and louder. His eyes roam over the room, looking for cover. “Let’s take care of these fuckers before pointing our guns at each other again, eh Captain?”

He doesn’t wait for a response before taking his position behind one of the tall databases. He closes the visor on his helmet and rotates his neck in its socket. Saritia won’t be happy about this turn of events. 

Oh well, at least he’ll get to show off a little. 

“Caelus, you think they’ve learned their lesson from what they saw in the other room?”

“Probably not.” 

His tone mirrors his first mate’s smugness. Familiar adrenaline thrums through his body and he can almost feel himself vibrate. “Same play then. Let’s get the fuck out of here, boys.”

The doors burst open and Javier takes a beat to count the hostiles. At least a dozen and probably more on the way. 

He takes advantage of the bottleneck by the door and charges through them in a blur of orange and blue, sideswiping their progress. He laughs out loud as they fall like bowling pins around him. Movement in his peripheral and his instinct tell him to duck as an omni-blade swiped at the air where his head just was. He tuts at the Cerberus soldier before jabbing the side of their knee. While they’re unsettled he shoots them in the chest, sending their body sprawling back. 

Another Cerberus soldier falls next to him silently and Javier sends a salute to Hiroto a level above.

He finds another target and pulls them toward him before sending bullets through their visor. All around him, an efficient battle rages.

—

Just as Karzan feared, the blueprints were a made up piece of bait dangled in front of their heads until they almost had no choice _but_ to fall for it. However, that doesn’t mean this trip has to be a total waste of time. If this facility is Cerberus owned, there must be traces left in the databases, and seeing as how eager Faust is to jump into the fray, Karzan sees the opportunity to use the distraction.

Karzan hangs back with Kalot who checks the database as the Cerberus soldiers rush toward the door while Faust charges in to meet them. He causes utter chaos in their ranks as his two men pick off the stragglers. 

Valena assists from a distance, though she only engages enemies that slip past Faust and his men through the door, shooting them down one by one. It’s regrettable that the fight takes place in such close quarters; Karzan recently upgraded his Black Widow with an armor piercing mod and has been itching to try it out, but clearly the bullets would be wasted on these Cerberus foot soldiers. 

Though perhaps his assessment is doing a disservice to Faust’s skill. He makes dispatching them look easy—the amount of joy he seems to take out of it, however, is another matter. Still, Karzan watches intently from where he stands guard beside Kalot, committing every move to memory. 

He has a feeling they’ll be running into each other again, and if they *do* get into a fight next time, it’ll be good to have as much knowledge of Faust’s fighting style as possible.

“There’s a trail here alright,” Kalot says, drawing Karzan’s attention, though his eyes don’t move from Faust’s agile figure knocking down enemies with ease. “There’s a hit out on you, captain. Both on you and on Faust.” 

“That’s not new,” Karzan replies distractedly, taking the measure of Faust’s crew as well. Sevenion seems a more clever fighter, who knows how to utilize the chaotic maneuvering of his captain effectively, while the third man makes a decent sniper. They appear to work well together.

“It’s not, but you may want to take a look at the list of mercs hired for the job,” Kalot says, and for the first time, Karzan moves his eyes off Faust to look at the screen.

He curses. “ _Hassiktir_.”¹

Blue Suns, Eclipse, Blood Pack, CAT6—practically every mercenary group with any weight to their name has it out for him now.

Looks like the Immortals have a new target: whatever shithead put out this bounty on him. 

“The hit came from Benning,” Kalot informs him, as if having read his mind, and Karzan frowns, recognizing the name. The planet was abandoned when the Reapers attacked and destroyed Arcturus Station, leaving thousands of people to be processed as all efforts focused on saving Earth and finishing the Crucible.

It’s not unthinkable that Cerberus would manage to gain a foothold there.

“Alright.” Karzan eyes the battle still raging near the doors. “Let’s get out of here.” 

“We’re not going to help them?” Valena questions, glancing back toward the fight where Faust still hasn’t tired. 

“I’m leaving the database intact, aren’t I?” Karzan replies coolly, eyeing the thinning group of Cerberus soldiers. He readies his pistol, though he doubts he’ll need to use it. “Kalot, cloak. Valena, keep up.”

“You got it, boss!” 

Karzan waits, following the ebb and flow of the fight, watching patiently for a gap. When he finds it, he bursts out into a sprint, right through the dead center as he dodges and weaves in between enemies—he brushes past Faust, his crew on his heels.

As Karzan catches Faust’s eyes while he runs past, for a moment, time almost seems to slow down.

But then Karzan is gone, Valena and Kalot right behind him, covering up their escape with a well-timed smoke grenade left behind in their wake, filling up the hallway. 

¹An exclamation that roughly means ‘Oh fuck’ or ‘Fuck off’ in Turkish.

—

**RIGHT ABOVE NOVERIA — 9 FEB 2188 CE — 20:03**

“Oh, there he is!” 

When Karzan steps out of the elevator and onto the bridge of the Fereydun, the reception he gets is far from a hero’s welcome—but then again, that’s rather typical for his crew.

The first person he sees is Alemu, grinning like a Cheshire cat beside the galaxy map, the white of his teeth contrasting against his deep brown skin. “I hear you’re in high demand now, captain! Four different merc groups gunning for you? Who did you piss off?” 

Nura, his ever so reliable asari first mate, saunters over from the cockpit area to join Alemu, commenting loudly, “Who hasn’t he pissed off? It’s a miracle this didn’t happen sooner, if you ask me.” 

“If you’ve got time to crack jokes, how about you fill me in about Benning instead,” Karzan replies, approaching the galaxy map and glancing at the path mapped out to Benning. One with several detours, likely to evade the mercs already on their way here. 

It’ll take longer to get to Benning, but he’ll take that over getting entangled in space battles. He has full confidence in Desius as their main pilot with Nico assisting him, but even those two aren’t talented enough to defeat a small armada of mercs with the ship they’ve got. The Fereydun is a beauty in many ways, but she was built for stealth rather than firepower. 

“From the intel that Kalot sent me, the man we’re dealing with is a former CFO of Kassa Fabrications,” Nura recounts, pulling up her omnitool. Its orange light shines dimly on her aquamarine skin, lightening the vivid red markings on her face and warming her yellow eyes into a softer gold.

Alemu peeks over her shoulder at the screen of her omnitool, arching his brows to his meticulously shaven hairline. “Roderick Grant. He started his own weapons company a few years back, backed by… unknown.” 

“Of course,” Karzan scoffs, leaning against the edge of the galaxy table. “Cerberus?” 

“Likely so; I guess we found out where they get their weapons from.” 

“He recently settled down on Benning,” Nura continues, projecting the screen so Karzan can look at it as well. “Set up a factory, found plenty of cheap labor since the planet’s infrastructure and economy has been devastated… and many wealthy clients looking to protect themselves.” 

It’s a predictable result in the aftermath of the war; rather than help their communities, the rich continue to defend their own interests to the detriment of everyone around them. Karzan has seen story after story about common folk, desperate for resources, resorting to looting and taking what should’ve been theirs to begin with, only to be met with brutal and often lethal aggression in return.

“So.” Karzan rolls his shoulders. “Take him out, and the bounty goes away.” 

“That is rather simplistic,” Alemu says slowly, “but yes. His company is still quite young as well; it’s doubtful that it would survive for long without him at the helm. Two birds with one stone.”

As Karzan considers this, Alemu and Nura exchange a look, before the latter says, “You know, you’re not the only one with a bounty on you. Faust—”

“I don’t need his help,” Karzan interrupts brusquely. 

Nura frowns at him. “Honestly, Karzan, what do you have against the guy? The only reason we keep running into him is because we seem to share the same goals.” 

“ _Seem_ to.” Karzan waves his hand in a sharp motion, indicating to drop the subject. “How do we get to Grant?” 

At that very moment, from beside the elevator, Min-ji pops her head out the door leading to the armory to look at Karzan, peering at him through her mess of black curls. “Oh, you’re back? That was a cold move you pulled on Faust back there, captain. Don’t be surprised if the guy clocks you the next time you see him.” 

“Will you all shut up about Faust?” Karzan snaps. “What is this, the Faust Fanclub?” 

From the cockpit, he hears Nico shout, “Hey, that’s a pretty good name!” 

Karzan pinches the bridge of his nose, before turning his back and heading toward the elevator again. “I’ll be in my cabin if anyone wants to talk about something that isn’t Faust.” 

“Is it an ego thing?” he hears Nura murmur to Alemu as he steps into the elevator. 

“Captain doesn’t want to share his toys,” Alemu mumbles back, though they both freeze as Karzan turns around to face them.

He glares for a dedicated two seconds before he punches in the button leading to the floor housing his captain’s cabin. The doors slide shut on Alemu grinning apologetically and Nura looking not at all remorseful.

It’s not that he has anything in particular against Faust; he simply doesn’t trust him. What are the man’s intentions, really? Karzan has been around long enough to know that talk is cheap, and even actions can be deceitful. 

He knows that from personal experience.

Karzan has heard stories about Faust spreading stolen loot around to communities who need it, but there are plenty of merc companies who do the same thing to use as a recruitment tool or merely to bolster their reputation. Having burned himself on alliances in the past, Karzan doesn’t want to travel down that road again. In the end, the only people he can truly trust are his own crew, his own community. 

As the elevator ride takes him up to his cabin, Karzan considers the slightest of possibilities that Faust may yet prove him wrong. There was something purely honest in the man he saw charge headfirst into battle. Mercs concerned about superficial things, spouting hollow ideology aren’t the type to put their own bodies on the line; they let their grunts risk their necks for them. Yet Faust took the brunt of the attacks so his own men could take less risks.

Karzan shakes his head, dismissing the thought. It’ll prove to be wishful thinking in the end, just like it did before. But if he does run into Faust again, well… he might be curious enough to test him. 

Just to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to somewhere beneath the stars! this roleplay started in the summer of 2020 as a result of kindred writing souls finding each other and missing mass effect. the rp has not been reformatted for fic and maintains its original call and response structure. we are far ahead in the rp and will be updating the fic regularly on ao3 as we edit it. 
> 
> please find character descriptions for each crewmate introduced in the end notes.
> 
> thanks for reading! 
> 
> —
> 
>  **Karzan Nasri** (by cherrypistol)  
>  _Captain of the Immortals_  
>  Age: 34  
> Birthday: May 7, 2153  
> Birthplace: Amed, Kurdistan  
> Sexuality: Bisexual  
> Class: Infiltrator  
> Face claim: Burak Deniz
> 
>  **Javier Agbayani** (by secondbutton)  
>  _Captain of the Maharlika_  
>  Age: 31  
> Birthday: December 12, 2156  
> Birthplace: Arcturus Station  
> Sexuality: Bisexual  
> Class: Vanguard  
> Face claim: Manny Jacinto  
>   
>  **Kalot Targa**  
>  _Engineer of the Immortals_  
>  Species: Krogan  
> she/her  
> 398 years old
> 
>  **Valena Veris**  
>  _Crewmate of the Immortals_  
>  Species: Turian  
> she/her  
> 28 years old
> 
>  **Caelus Sevenion**  
>  _First mate of the Maharlika_  
>  Species: Turian  
> he/him  
> 30 years old
> 
>  **Hiroto Sakai**  
>  _Armor and weaponry for the Maharlika_  
>  Species: Human  
> he/him  
> 38 years old  
> 


	2. BENNING

**EN ROUTE TO BENNING — 12 FEB 2188 CE — 12:03**

Javier lets out a ragged yell before throwing another series of punches at the punching bag hanging in front of him. It bounces and rattles and he catches the edge of it with a jab of his elbow before digging his knee into it. 

He’s been at it for over an hour now, locked inside the cargo bay and working off his anger, his grief. Ever since Caelus had given him that grim look and broke the news that they had business in the Arcturus Stream, Javi’s been operating on autopilot. 

But the closer they get to Benning, the closer his seals come to snapping open. 

It’s bad enough that apparently all the fucking mercs in the galaxy are after the Maharlika. It’s pretty much  _ disastrous _ that the trail leads right to his mother’s grave. There’s a sudden tightness in his chest and he drops his fists, lungs heaving. Regret chokes every breath he takes and his mind throws him back into a memory of one of their last conversations.

‘ _ Mom, I’ll even give you the captain’s quarters, just please come on board _ .’

‘ _ Javi, I’m in the safest place in the galaxy _ .’

He didn’t have the heart to point out that if worse came to worst, the Alliance would prioritize protecting the Crucible over the Station. The Alliance played heavy on the defense, always giving themselves the option to cut their losses when the odds looked grim. And even if he  _ had _ told her that, then she would argue she should be at the Crucible instead of with him. Stubborn, smart ass woman.

Javi misses her so much.

Should he have fought her on it harder? Should he have ignored what she wanted and picked her up anyway? She might’ve ended up hating him but she might still be alive.

An inescapable sense of self-blame and disgust wells up in him. He feels like it just might rip his skin apart from the inside out. He attacks the punching bag with renewed vigor even when his eyes start to blur with tears. 

—

**RIGHT ABOVE BENNING — 14 FEB 2188 CE — 05:03**

Caelus pulls him out of his quarters at 0500 the day of the mission. Javier hasn’t gotten much sleep, instead relying on stims to keep him going the past few days as the crew prepares for the mission. 

He thinks that his first mate is about to run them through the plan, the schematics, or the other details one more time. Instead, Caelus leads them to the kitchen and throws a packet of instant coffee at him. 

That summons a small yet genuine smile. It’s his favorite brand.

“Where’d you get this, Caelus?” he moves to set some water to boil. 

“Traded for it at the last station we stopped to refuel.”

They busy themselves around the kitchen, preparing coffee and breakfast. His body stirs at the thought of food even if his mind remains somewhat numb. Growing up he always ate a lot. He would pile the rice high on his plate and eat his way through the ulam his parents had prepared that week. His favorite food, even now, is his mom’s ginataang salmon, a salmon stew with a coconut milk base and leafy greens. 

When he got his biotic implant at 13, his appetite skyrocketed. His metabolism and budding abilities burned through his calories like sheets of paper in a wildfire. Both his parents had risen to the task of raising a biotic teenager admirably, experimenting with different recipes and ingredients to see which foods would sustain him so he wasn’t always walking around hangry.

“Javi.”

“Huh—sorry.”

He forces himself out of his reflections to regard his friend.

“Thanks for getting some coffee, Caelus. Definitely need it today.”

“Don’t mention it. We need you in top shape.” Though turians’ faces aren’t nearly as expressive as humans, Javier can still read the concern underlying his friend’s words and actions.

“I will be,” he tries to cloak himself in his usual bravado. It’s harder to pull out, has been since Noveria, but it’s a second skin at this point.

Caelus eyes scan him a little doubtfully but doesn’t press the issue. The ship is quiet around them. Usually the bulk of the crew isn’t awake until about an hour or so. The comfortable silence that stretches between them actually soothes Javier, and he lets himself remember that he isn’t actually alone.

“Is it your parents?”

“...Yeah,” he admits with a long exhale. He and Caelus talk over breakfast, and later when they pass by the remains of the Station, he’s able to stand up straight at the bridge with his pilots. 

—

**BENNING — 14 FEB 2188 CE — 13:48**

Javier is uncharacteristically subdued in the shuttle. 

Over breakfast, he and Caelus agreed to take Nyitea with them to the gala. Though young by asari years, Nyitea’s pedigree made her a perfect complement to any ground team in these sorts of settings. She’s beautiful, disarming, and ruthless. Javier could usually rely on his own charms during these missions, but with his mind and heart completely distracted, he and Caelus both trust Nyitea to fill the gaps. He feels better after talking things out with Caelus, but the excitement he had before Noveria is dormant. He just wants to get this shit over with so he can take the next job as far away from his birthplace as possible. 

Nyitea is briefing him on the bullet points about people they know will be there. He recognizes the names of some CEOs he particularly enjoys stealing from and a corner of his smile quirks up, thinking about shaking their hands and looking them straight in the eye shamelessly. 

He’d considered maybe trying to get a message through to Nasri, see if they could put their heads and crews together for this mission since they were both on the shit list. He decided against it though. If the man was interested in that he probably wouldn’t have immediately left Noveria, leaving him and his men to do the clean up.

Seems like Nasri really didn’t mind someone else doing the dirty work. 

The thought of running into the elusive pirate again lifts his spirits a little. Maybe he can get at least a punch in this time. Asshole.

Benning’s weather is significantly clearer than Noveria’s, allowing the Maharlika to do some recon before the mission. The party is at a mansion, sitting pretty on top of artificial waterfalls. An unnecessary display of wealth, and rage bubbles up in Javier every time he thinks of how unfair it is that, just a few clicks away, his mother’s remains float in space. Indiscernible and unclaimed.

“Ten minutes to the base, Captain,” Aviria chirps from the pilot’s seat, having volunteered to be their getaway driver. Partly for the mission’s sake but mostly because Aviria has never been to Benning before and was curious to see it up close. Javier indulges her curiosities. New experiences are what Aviria joined the Maharlika for, after all. And he feels better knowing someone can scoop them up in case none of them are able to fly for whatever reason. 

Javier rises, stuffing his grief into a metal box and welding it shut it in his mind’s eye. His crew is relying on him. They don’t need this massive bounty hanging over their heads. He visualizes stepping into a more stable, unhurt version of himself. Captain Faust the character, not Javier Agbayani the man. 

He buttons his suit like he would close the seals on his armor. It’s showtime.

—

A fancy party was not the venue Karzan had in mind when he imagined taking out Grant with a bullet to the head. 

Nura fixes his collar for him in the backseat as Nico drives them to their location. 

“Will you sit still?” she says when he starts to fidget.

Karzan shifts in his seat a little, but then does as she asks. “This coat is too tight, I can barely move my shoulders.” 

“Please stop bragging about your big muscles and let me fix this.” Nura gives him an exasperated look, glancing over his all-black suit. “I told you to get a custom fit, didn’t I?” 

“We’re going to this party to kill someone, not to look cute,” Karzan responds irritably. 

“Who says we can’t do both?” Nura replies without missing a beat, gesturing to her admittedly gorgeous deep blue dress; Valena almost cried when she saw it, being the lucky one to call Nura her girlfriend.

Karzan turns to Nico. “Are we there yet?” 

“You’re starting to sound like Valena, captain,” Nico teases, driving the shuttle with ease as they navigate the rocky cliffs toward the decadent mansion situated atop waterfalls. “But yes, we’re here.” 

Stealing the invites from a few of Grant’s clients had almost been like stealing candy from a baby; the two merchants had been completely caught off-guard when the Fereydun ambushed them on their way to Benning. 

Memorizing their backgrounds as his cover story had been less fun, however; during the party, Karzan is to go by the name of Nikolaos Papadopoulos, which may have been the single most complicated fake name he has had to carry. The other merchant had been an asari by the name of Leora T’kari, which they specifically sought out so Nura could accompany him; no one else in his crew was fit for this kind of job.

As Nico lands the shuttle, designated to be on standby for their getaway after the job has been finished, Karzan takes a breath and smooths out the frown on his face, trying to get in character.

Asshole rich guy with more money than he could ever spend, here to meet other assholes—prospective business partners—to commit more war crimes with, or something. Easy enough.

He opens the door to the shuttle, stepping out to see a small crowd already visible inside the mansion. A few other shuttles arrive after theirs at the parking space while Karzan turns to offer a hand to Nura, helping her step out.

She straightens elegantly, not having worn heels in years but seeming natural in them as she takes his arm. “Shall we, Nikolaos?” 

He keeps his grimacing internal, instead taking on a cocky smile. “Let’s.” 

They head up to the steps leading toward the mansion, and Karzan notes the time on his omnitool.

One hour, in and out.

—

“Can you  _ imagine _ what would’ve happened if Chroma was completely destroyed?” Nyitea adopts a convincingly distressed tone, the pitch of her voice rising and falling for increased effect. Damn, she’s really good at this.

The asari across from his crew member looks like she just might faint. “Oh, that would’ve been positively  _ disastrous _ !” She flits her eyes from one end of the room to the other before bowing her head conspiratorially. “You know, Lerev Pharmaceuticals mines their eezo from there. How lucky that we still have our supply! Otherwise, we wouldn’t have been able to become such a large provider of biotic-specific medicine after the war.”

Years of intense self-discipline keep him from rolling his eyes or closing his hands into a fist. This woman actually seems to believe that she is doing the galaxy a favor by monopolizing eezo-based medicine and jacking up the prices so only armies and governments had access to it, not the people. Somehow, he grips onto the blank, smiling expression he’s had on since he stepped out of the shuttle. 

Nyitea slid into schmoozing like a seal into water, despite the fact that this party contained its fair share of their active enemies. He’s seen her in action before—usually she’s leveraging this talent to beat him in their little phone number contests—but to see it up close and with such high stakes is illuminating. He’s definitely taking notes.

“And in less than two years. Impressive,” Nyitea keeps her tone low, he notices. She  _ forces _ people to listen to her sharply and intently just by the way that she talks. 

“Seems like we’ve followed similar paths! The war was good for  _ something _ at least.”

Nyitea nods indulgently, letting that comment hang. A beat later, Lerev hands her a holo card.

“Let’s connect next week, yes?”

At this party, Nyitea is the owner of an up and coming shipping and logistics company. It’s been undercutting a lot of the already established companies (likely through unethical practices) and rising up quickly enough in market share for the bigger corporations to notice. The Maharlika had specifically chosen this role for her because of the persona, but also because it meant she could leverage it for new leads.

Lerev Pharmaceuticals just firmly placed itself on the hit list. 

“But enough shop talk,” Lerev laughs airily, straightening back up. “Who is  _ this _ ?”

The other asari turns her attention on him. He’s stood at Nyitea’s side since they entered, her hand cradled in the crook of one arm. A purple hand firmly grasps his bicep through his suit and runs all the way down to his wrist. He keeps himself from shuddering and forces a smirk on his face. 

“This is my date. You know these humans and their odd holidays,” Nyitea sends him a haughty look, like she owns him for the night. Apparently being the daughter of politicians and ambassadors turns you into a terrifying actress.

“You’ll be the talk of the party for more reasons than one, it seems.” 

A Cheshire grin blooms on Nyitea’s striking face. “I hope so.”

Minutes later, they’re standing by themselves at a cocktail table. There are drinks in their hand for show and they take turns scanning the room. 

“You’re fucking scary and I’m so glad you’re on my side, have I ever told you that?”

Nyitea smirks at him. “You have, but never stop reminding me.”

His earpiece scratches on and Caelus’ voice crackles through. “Grant is still surrounded. Do rich assholes ever talk about anything other than how rich or how much of an asshole they are?”

“He’ll pull away for a refill or to piss eventually. He might be ungodly rich but he’s only human,” Javier murmurs back. 

“I’ll cover the hallway to the bathroom. See what other leads I can snatch up by the ladies’.”

“I’ll stay here by the bar, then.”

Javier keeps his eyes peeled for an opportunity to pull Grant away from the crowd. Ideally the job is done as quickly and quietly as possible, and the Kasama is already in FTL before his body is even found. It’s wishful thinking, he knows.    
  
It’s more likely an unexpected wrench gets thrown into the plan and they have to improvise. There’s also the wild card factor of Nasri’s attendance at the party. Both crews are operating with the same lead. Nasri is a smart captain. Javier is willing to bet that he’s one of the men in here right now.

He doesn’t actually know what the other captain looks like. The masks are a strategic play for multiple reasons, one of them being anonymity. He’s starting to discover that that’s Nasri’s style: cool, quiet, confident stealth. He can probably never relate to it, but he can be impressed by it.

Under all the grief that the disastrous Noveria mission reawakened is a nugget of disappointment. He has been genuinely anticipating meeting Nasri. The man stayed quiet until it was time to act. And act he motherfucking did. Javier respects that tremendously and sees a hundred different ways that their efforts can bolster each other’s.

Nasri seems to want nothing to do with him though, if that meeting is anything to go by. Javier decides he has nothing to prove to the man. He might be early into this game but he’s always done it for the right reasons, which is not something that most of the galaxy can say. 

Still, he watches the crowd for a tall, broad-shouldered human male. From the way that his armor fits him, Javier surmises that Nasri is around his height and muscular. He wonders what his face might look like. Impossible to tell with the blank stare of the skull helmet, but he imagines dark hair and a fierce glare. 

—

Back in his days of flying around the galaxy as a solo mercenary, there came times where Karzan would moonlight as an assassin. There was never a shortage of work in that area. The more powerful and wealthy his targets were, the more people would be itching to see them dead; he has lost count of the hours he spent stalking his marks, studying their routines and habits to make the perfect kill.

It has given him an unexpected advantage in undercover ops such as these. He knows the perfect timing for when to laugh, when to brag, when to suck up and when to join in on the mocking. The vile he spews within the first fifteen minutes of being at the party are things he has heard people say many times during his past jobs—sometimes even moments before he would pull the trigger and blow their lights out. 

Roderick Grant, in that respect, is about as despicable a human being as Karzan has ever met. There’s nothing particularly evil about him; he’s the same as all the others. Perhaps more calculated or cunning, something that has given him a leg-up on his competition, but as Karzan comes face to face with the man who put a bounty on his head, Grant shaking his hand amiably, Karzan’s smile is a genuine one.

Grant has  _ no idea _ .

“How are things in the Skyllian Verge?” Grant asks conversationally, and Karzan is almost impressed. While the man has clearly no idea what the real Nikolaos Papadopoulos looks like, he has done his homework. Then again, being that Nikolaos is responsible for selling his products, he might simply know the information by heart. 

“Same old, same old,” Karzan replies, shrugging with an exasperated look on his face. The subtle implication is more than enough for Grant to fill in the blanks. 

“Batarians, right?” Grant laughs, patting his shoulder in commiseration. “They’ve done wonders for our sales numbers, at least.” 

Thankfully, Grant moves on to talk to the next dipshit in line looking about ready to lick his boots, and Karzan breathes out a quiet breath, though he does not relax his persona for a minute. Never know who might be watching you at parties like these.

Nura joins him a moment later, having scoped out the surroundings when she left Karzan to mingling. She nods imperceptibly in Grant’s direction. “Is he done talking yet?” 

“Almost.” 

She puts a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to mutter into his ear, “His office is unguarded. Nico can trigger the alarms from a distance and lure him over; I can keep the guards here busy.”

Karzan keeps the smile plastered on his face, chuckling as he pretends as if Nura said something incredibly amusing while surveying the rest of the party. “Good. We should—”

His eyes fall upon a figure standing by the cocktail table, and he pauses.

Nura pulls back and frowns at him, following his gaze. Her eyes light with realization. “Ah.” 

Faust is standing there by himself with a drink in his hand, dressed in very much not-orange armor. Even without it on he seems to radiate a certain kind of presence; he makes the space around him look smaller for it, cutting a sharp figure in his formal clothes. 

It almost looks wrong on him, like the only place he is supposed to be is a bloodied battlefield, but at the same time he seems all the more dangerous for it. There’s nothing left of the cocksure pirate taking joy in his mission that Karzan encountered just a few days ago.

“Nikolaos?” 

Karzan blinks, tearing his eyes away from Faust to look at Nura, whose smile is sugary-sweet, like she knows something he doesn’t.

“Wait for my signal,” he murmurs, then extracts his arm from her grip and heads over toward the cocktail table, ignoring the single arched brow Nura levels him with. 

He wanted an opportunity to test Faust, and he has it. A chance this perfect is rare; Faust likely has no idea what he looks like, which means he can prod him while feigning complete ignorance. Still, this requires a bit of a transformation on Karzan’s part. 

Considering everything he knows about Faust, he won’t be taken in by some dime a dozen billionaire prick trying to chat him up. Karzan needs to tone down his persona from slimy capitalist to personable merchant just here for the free drinks if he wants a shot at getting him to open up.

Smoothing his expression to one of boredom, Karzan waits until Faust has his back turned before he saunters up to the cocktail table, sidling up beside him with complete nonchalance.

He pretends to have eyes only for the appetizers, like he’s only peripherally aware of the other person at the table, before lets out a long sigh, mumbling, “God, what a bunch of insufferable pricks.” 

Picking up a small appetizer of what looks like shrimp and a bunch of other shit, Karzan pops it into his mouth, then ‘coincidentally’ meets Faust’s eyes. He pauses for a moment as he chews and swallows, wiping a bit of food from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, though that also gives him a moment to study Faust’s face more closely.

The lighting of the party is much better than the too-bright hallways lights of an evil lab, and Karzan’s gaze lingers for one inexplicable moment on the subtle shadows caressing the line of Faust’s cheekbones before he snaps back to awareness.

This is definitely not the right time—nor the right person—for any of _ that. _

“You don’t mind, do you?” Karzan asks conversationally, feigning cluelessness as he gestures at the appetizers. “The food’s the only tolerable thing here.” 

He extends a hand, lips curving into a friendly smile. “Nikolaos, by the way.” 

—

Javier sizes up the man that’s just randomly approached him as he shakes his hand. Nikolaos is in a crisp black suit, with buttons and a tie accessory glinting silver when the light catches. He has a rugged sort of look to him. The shape of his beard puts his cheekbones in a stark contrast. There’s a worldly, experienced energy that shrouds his movements, a sinuous grace to his smile. 

He runs through the names that Nyitea has been drilling into him for the past couple of days. Nikolaos… There’s only one on the guest list. Nikolaos Papadopoulos, one of the merchants in partnership with Grant. A rich asshole who apparently detests other rich assholes.    
  
He figures he’s accepted less believable things.

“Raul,” he answers breezily, a charming smile playing across his lips. Rich people love to be fawned over in these sorts of events and he indulges Nikolaos with a chuckle. 

“That’s a disservice to the drinks,” he waves his glass in the air cheerily. He doesn’t actually know what they taste like, but the vodka label is the most expensive in the galaxy. “And I don’t mind, as long as you give me a break from talking about trade routes.”

—

As Faust shakes his hand, Karzan is reminded that this same limb was swinging around an axe a few days ago. The strong grip he gets in return is unsurprising, though Faust’s demeanor here seems downright subdued in comparison to when Karzan last saw him.

Faust introduces himself as ‘Raul’. Karzan thinks he remembers seeing a Raul on the guest list, though only because he was supposedly a plus one to someone more significant—likely also a fake identity to cover one of his crewmates. Being the only one in the know during this exchange is certainly going to prove to be interesting.

“Pleasure to meet you, Raul.” In this, at least, Karzan does not have to fake his curiosity as he casually gives Faust a look-over; this is supposed to be an assessment, after all. “Tell me about it. I feel as though I’ve had to repeat the same exact conversation ever since I got here.”

He slips one hand into his pocket and leans languidly against the cocktail table as he lets his gaze wander briefly from Faust to the party.

“Is it your first time at one of Roderick’s parties?” he remarks, masked as an innocent attempt at conversation to get him to relax. Maybe a bit of a come on, too, as Karzan looks back at Faust and smiles. “I would’ve remembered you if you’d been before.” 

—

Javier feels the familiar threads of tension weave their way into the space between him and Nikolaos. His posture against the table is a clear invitation. From this angle he can see the crisp tailoring of his suit, the way the taper of his waist folded neatly into his trousers. He doesn’t seem to care that Javier is looking, so he lets his eyes linger on Nikolaos’ frame. Might as well. His earpiece is silent and this is the only non-excruciating conversation he’s had at this party.

“Yeah—I’m pretty memorable,” Javi smirks and stands to his full height, meeting Nikolaos’ gaze after his eyes make their deliberate trail across his form. 

“Granted, it’s not hard to stand out against a crowd of billionaires that think being rich constitutes a personality.”

—

The intent was to draw Faust in, so when Karzan catches Faust’s gaze trailing over him, that ought to be a good sign—yet the intensity of it is one that plays on one of Karzan’s few vices. Were this encounter happening in a club on Omega, Karzan would all but set a mental timer to see how long it would take him to get ‘Raul’ into bed with him, keeping meticulous count of each wasted second until they finally hit a mattress.

The imagery that accompanies that thought passes vividly through his mind for one overly long moment, but Karzan is nothing if not professional. He doesn’t slip up. Instead, he does something that is both rather clever as well as the height of fucking stupidity: he uses it.

He turns his body to face Faust, elbow on the table and leaning in a little to reciprocate the interest, noting along the way that Faust appears to have a few centimeters on him when standing up to his full height. It’s a meaningless detail as the difference is negligible, but technically that still makes him taller than Karzan; whether that irritates him or not he has yet to decide.

Their eyes meet again, both their gazes carrying distinctly more weight now that they’re focused on each other, and Faust gives Karzan the perfect lead-in.

“Can’t blame them, really,” Karzan replies, though he strikes a mocking tone. “What else can you expect from people who have their wealth passed down to them? Most of the people here are either heirs to a fortune or are opportunists who got lucky.” 

It’s a comfortable truth to admit, though one that needs to be padded. He flashes Faust a cheeky smile. “There are a few exceptions, though.” 

There really aren’t, but that’s certainly something a self-made man like Nikolaus would believe.

“What would you do if you had Roderick’s money?” he poses curiously.

—

Javier’s heart starts to pick up as he maintains the link between their eyes. His attention is admittedly divided between Nikolaos and the mission. Both Caelus and Nyitea know that he’s…  _ distracted _ , to say the least. Has been for days. Hopefully they don’t mind him taking advantage.

“Cheers to being an exception then.” Everything about Javier is intentionally disarming, from the easy quirk of his lips, the casual way he leans in, the low but intentional way he speaks. Like it’s just the two of them against this whole damn party. His mind has been endlessly searching for a distraction—any distraction—and this one’s been the most attractive by far.

Nikolaos’ question has him pausing to consider. If he was that rich… he thinks of the ripples in the Alliance when Shepard was suddenly alive again. The rumors of how they were “resurrected,” the eventual truth of the lengths that Cerberus went through to bring them back. If he had Grant’s money, could he use it to bring his parents back?

‘ _ That’s a slippery slope, Javi _ .’ Everyone on his crew and countless more lost someone to the war. Why should he get his loved ones back when no one else could?

No, that’s not the way he operates. 

He plays with the idea in his head and lets himself dream. 

“If I had that kind of money… these ugly ass fake waterfalls wouldn’t exist, first off,” he chuckles. Javier remembers the kind he used to jump off of on Earth when he was young, how one of his first loves was solidified behind one in Guam. These don’t come close to comparing. 

“Can I be honest with you?” Javier pours earnestness into his eyes and lowers his voice in a performance of vulnerability. Attractive rich boys love feeling like they have power over you, like something about their presence alone makes you open up. It’s a fun game he likes to play—usually not on duty—and the cocksure way Nikolaos looks at him makes him think it’ll be entertaining enough to see where this little back and forth will lead.

He thinks he might actually tell Nikolaos the truth. When’s he ever going to see him again anyway?

“I’d probably get the agricultural supply chain out of Benning running again.” 

That was something he’d noted when the Maharlika was doing their research. Apparently Benning’s granaries and warehouses were automated and overflowing. All that food, just sitting there because the rich ruling class on this planet had more profitable pursuits. “It would be like breaking a dam to feed the galaxy, especially since it’s close to so many mass relays.

“Sorry. And here I said I was going to stop talking about trade routes,” he plays at catching himself and peers at Nikolaos through his eyelashes. Javier tilts his chin towards the man opposite him. “What about you? What’s your endgame with all  _ your _ money?”

—

After Karzan asks the question and he watches Faust ponder it, something seems to change in Faust’s expression. It’s merely a glimpse of something, so quick that he can’t be sure that it wasn’t simply his imagination, but for a moment it almost appears as if Faust’s gaze darkens. It could simply be a trick of the light, though, especially as Faust’s initial response is a humorous one.

The subtle laugh Karzan breathes out is one he doesn’t have to fake; the architecture of this place really is hideous. Wealth appears to be positively correlated to horrible taste, especially considering the rather overbearing pink décor of this party. Nico had to point out to him that it was due to it being Valentine’s Day, or Karzan would’ve assumed Grant simply had a bad obsession with pink.

Funny, that. Karzan has never celebrated the holiday before, but there is something amusing about seducing a rival and carrying out a hit on this exact date.

Before his thoughts drift any further, Faust turns to him with an earnest look, seeming to have decided on a more serious answer. Karzan regards him with an expectant look, and the response he gets is one that actually surprises him as he arches his brows.

It’s a thoughtful reply. The issue with Benning’s wasted resources is something that Karzan himself noticed when doing his research on the planet. Not something a run-of-the-mill mercenary who is pretending at being a modern day Robin Hood might consider. 

Either Faust is more serious about his goals that Karzan thought, or he is very good at playing the part. 

Despite his reservations, he finds his interest growing. His reasoning of trying to test Faust to assess whether he’ll be a problem in the future is becoming flimsier by the minute, as it seems more and more that he’s merely doing this to sate his own curiosity, which is unlike him. He’s on a mission, he ought to focus, but it’s rare for anyone to intrigue him like this.

Although part of that intrigue may simply be superficial; that look Faust gives him through his eyelashes has Karzan shifting his stance a little. He rights himself so that he’s no longer leaning casually against the table, trying to remember that his goal is not to hook up with Faust. 

Though that’s a little hard to do when the flirting is going so well.

“Oh, please, no need to apologize,” Karzan says as he smiles, and not strictly in a friendly way. His gaze flits purposefully over Faust’s face with new appreciation, lingering for a subtle moment on his lips before moving back up to his eyes—just faking it, he reminds himself. “That’s probably the most original thought I’ve heard all night.” 

Admittedly, it pains him a little that he can’t reply to Faust’s question with honesty in return; Nikolaos would sooner die than redistribute his wealth, and it might be a step too far away from believability. He settles for a compromise.

“Find someone to spend it on,” Karzan says with a wink, keeping it nonchalant and self-aware as his gaze drifts over the party. “Maybe I’ll donate the rest of it so I can feel good about myself. Honestly, I haven’t really thought about it. Feeding the galaxy seems like a pretty nice idea. Although…” 

Karzan suspects if there’s any point of disagreement between them, it’ll be this. “You think these people would let you?” He gestures to the party around them. “They can get pretty nasty if you threaten their hoard, you know.” 

He knows what  _ his _ solution to that would be, and it wouldn’t be pretty. Now to see how far Faust is willing to take this.

—

Javier is looking at Nikolaos so intently that it’s impossible to miss the way the other man’s dark gaze pauses on his lips, like a hummingbird flitting between flowers in search of sweet nectar. Nikolaos doesn’t bother to hide the suggestion in his answer, nor in the wink he sends Javi’s way. If this was a normal party, and he was actually a CEO’s plus one flirting with a potential partner, he’d be leveraging this clear interest for a business deal. Either for his date or for himself.

He could be comfortable, kept, affluent.

And bored.

Still, he can dream a little bit about taking Nikolaos up on the offer in his eyes. They’d probably start by finding an empty room with a lock. He would let Nikolaos work for his kiss—these types love the illusion of control as well as the satisfaction of a prize soundly won. Then Javier would get on his knees and find out what makes this smooth talker stutter.

He can feel his body heat up a little and he makes a mental note to store  _ that _ one away for later.

He brings himself back to the here and now as he considers Nikolaos’ next question. It’s endearing, he thinks, that the other man doesn’t know just how familiar Javier is with how  _ nasty _ these people could be. His military mind could almost rationalize it. Technically, he was the one that started all his conflicts with the mega-rich and their corporations. Of course they would fight to keep what’s theirs. 

But that’s the thing—why is it theirs if  _ they’ve _ stolen it too? He’s just stealing it back. And if they get in his way of doing so… Well, he can’t control whether or not they step into the swing of his axe.

If he has Grant’s money at his disposal though, he wouldn’t always have to resort to that. Plus, he’s not about to admit that he’s already plotting to kill someone in this room.

“I hear money is pretty persuasive in these circles, and in this dream I have more than I can spend in ten lifetimes. I’ll just wave some more around,” he shrugs casually. 

“But if you’re asking whether or not I’ll get my hands dirty…” he bites his lip, flicking his tongue out to soothe it. “Stick around and maybe you’ll find out.”

—

The rational part of Karzan’s brain makes note of the evasive answer, realizing that he has likely reached a limit in how much he’ll be able to get out of Faust in a place like this. The identity of Nikolaos was never an ideal cover to try and hear his real thoughts in the first place, though it is still surprising to see how forthcoming Faust has been in spite of that.

The less rational part of Karzan’s brain, however, is fixated entirely on the press of teeth in the soft flesh of Faust’s lower lip, then soothed over by his tongue, emphasized by the suggestive words that follow. Karzan prides himself on his self-discipline and control over his body, but even he can’t prevent the rush of familiar heat beneath his clothes, a wildfire across his skin he has no say over.

Were he a less focused man he might’ve plotted a small detour to solve this little problem, and he can certainly envision one, were he that careless. Pulling Faust along somewhere more private to see what a flush would look like on his skin—but of course, it is a fantasy. One that quickly comes to an end. 

“Nikolaos.”

Nura’s hand on his arm is a bucket of cold water pouring down his back, putting out the fire as surely as anything. She doesn’t wrap around his arm like she did before, however, keeping a friendlier distance as she stands by his side, glancing curiously at Faust before aiming her attention at Karzan.

The look in her eyes is pointed; if they’re going to get Grant, they need to do it now. 

“There are some people from  _ Pharos Industries  _ who are eager to meet you,” she says smoothly, slipping in their codeword with ease; Nico is about to trigger the alarm. “Be a dear and clinch this deal for us, will you?” 

Karzan sighs with exasperation, before shooting Faust an apologetic look. “Duty calls. I’ll see you in a bit?”

Hopefully Nura can keep Faust’s attention for a bit, though it worries Karzan that he doesn’t know where Faust’s other crewmates are; it’s doubtful that he would be here on his own. If any of them notice the alarm going off, they will doubtlessly inform Faust and take the opportunity to ambush Grant themselves. Karzan needs to get there before any of them.

He pulls away from the table, making his way through the crowd of partygoers, weaving in between clueless guests until he’s safely hidden from view of the cocktail table and within sight of Grant, who is still busy chatting with a small group. 

Karzan situates himself in front of the windows near the corner of the room, pretending to admire the view while keeping an eye on Grant in his peripherals. He stands right beside a door leading to the balcony area, supposedly off-limits; he checks it subtly, noting Nura did her job in unlocking it for him. 

_ “Ready, captain?” _ Nico sounds in his ear; his lack of response is affirmation.  _ “Triggering the alarm in three, two, one—now.” _

It doesn’t take long for Grant to notice. He glances down at his omnitool, a look of apprehension crossing his face, before he looks up at his guests with an awkward smile, extracting himself with some sort of excuse; the façade doesn’t last long. As soon as he separates from his friends, he all but hurries toward the stairs leading to his office

Quick and silent as a ghost, Karzan slips out the balcony door, leaving the party behind him.

—

Javier nods at Nikolaos as he goes off to handle some business, resisting the impulse to watch his retreating form since his asari associate is right in front of him. He sends her an easy smile when their gazes meet again.

“Enjoying the party?” A knowing look dances in the asari’s eyes. Her smile tells him she’s goading him a little and he gets the feeling that she’s sizing him up.

The corners of his lips quirk with suggestion and he matches her energy. “The company’s been unexpectedly novel.” His glance flits towards the direction Nikolaos went before sliding back. 

“I’m Raul, by the way.”

“Leora.” She extends a hand and he clasps it.

“I didn’t realize I was interrupting something,” her tone is light and teasing. He gets the feeling that Nikolaos will get an earful after this party. “Did you want his number…?” 

“ _ Grant’s office alarm just went off. _ ” Javi’s earpiece comes to life, intercepting his response. He regards Leora as he gropes for an excuse to step away. 

“ _ Real or a lure? _ ” Nyitea responds back to Caelus immediately. 

“ _ Most likely the latter. _ ”

“I think I’ll let him decide if he wants to find me after or not,” he flashes her a wink before stepping back. “It was nice meeting you, Leora. Good luck with Pharos.”

He raises his glass to someone random in the crowd and makes like he’s about to go speak to them. Once he’s turned a corner he drops his glass off on a surface and picks up his pace. He wishes he had his weapons right now, he considers as he mentally prepares his biotics.

“ _ Hurry up, whoever set off the alarm is probably already in the office. _ ” Caelus growls over the comms. 

Sure enough, once Javi climbs up the stairs, the door to Grant’s office is ajar. Nyitea catches up and gives him a sideways glance before she closes her hands in fists, the blue waves of her biotics emanating from her skin.

“ _ I’ll relock the door behind you when you go in. Don’t die _ .”

Javier steps into the office first, eyes moving methodically around his surroundings. He takes in the gaudy, unnecessary decorations, the soulless art, and—Grant choking, a familiar tie accessory jabbing his cheek.

“We’re in, Caelus,” he barely registers Nyitea’s words as his mind registers the man holding Grant’s life in his fashion accessory.

“Nikola—what the  _ fuck? _ ”

Grant takes the opportunity of the momentary distraction to break Nikolaos’ hold. Javier sends a small shockwave at Grant’s feet, knocking him down and sending his body flailing as he walks further into the room. He then pins his fierce glare on Nikolaos, taking the man in with a different light.

Tall, broad shouldered, muscular. Could apparently kill with a tie. Probably laid the trap for Grant.

‘ _ Lied to my face, knowing exactly who I was. _ ’

Clarity clicks into place. But he wants to hear it from the man himself first.

His fist glows blue as he rears it back in “Nikolaos’” direction. “Tell me who the fuck you are.”

—

From the balcony Karzan sees a clear path to Grant’s office, though it requires scaling the side of the building. Usually, this route would be filled with guards considering the balcony connects to Grant’s private gardens, but Nico is nothing if not efficient and has likely lured those guards away just in time for Karzan. 

Karzan walks over to stand where he can see the windows to Grant’s office, right above him on the second floor. He reaches into the inner pocket of his coat, pulling out black leather gloves that were made to stick especially well to surfaces; there are very few ledges to hold onto considering how smooth the wall is. He would’ve brought a grappling gun, but that would’ve been easily detected entering the mansion.

He tests the gloves out against the wall and, satisfied when they don’t easily give way, Karzan begins the climb. Thankfully it’s not a very high one; he finds himself beside Grant’s window in under a minute, and when he peers inside, he sees Grant already seated at his desk, frantically checking through his computer with his back turned to the windows.

That’ll be his first—and last—mistake. 

Karzan pushes the window open soundlessly, unlocked for him by Nico, and slips into the room, the tips of his shoes cautiously touching the tiled floor. Grant hears nothing, continuing to scan through his files as Karzan creeps up behind him, undoing his tie and stretching it out.

When he stands right behind him, he wraps the reinforced tie around Grant’s throat in one smooth motion, twisting it in a stranglehold while Grant chokes out a gasp, arms flailing. Two minutes is all Karzan needs; Grant will be dead, his mission will be over, and he’ll be able to leave this place. Although…

What is Faust going to think when he finds Grant’s lifeless body here? He’ll doubtlessly notice Nikolaos’ disappearance from the party as well. Even a child would be able to put two and two together. Thankfully, Karzan will be far away by then—

The door to the office slides open. 

“Nikola—what the fuck?”

_ Shit. _

Karzan clenches his jaw, ignoring Faust and focusing on strangling the life out of Grant. Just a little longer, he’s so close—

A shockwave ripples across the floor, forcing Karzan to release Grant and dodge the blast, sidestepping it while it sends Grant flying. Karzan comes face to face with Faust, who is glaring daggers at him, fist raised threateningly as Karzan shifts into a defensive stance, readying to dodge whatever Faust throws at him. The odds aren’t in his favor at this close a range, however. 

“Tell me who the fuck you are,” Faust demands, no trace left of the man Karzan flirted with downstairs; he looks pissed off, alright. Karzan can’t even fault him for that, but he has very little patience to entertain this drama when his mark is  _ right there. _

“This isn’t the right time, Faust,” Karzan replies coolly, wishing he could see what Grant was up to in the corner of the office, but he can’t afford to take his eyes off Faust. Using his name, though, should give Faust the confirmation about Karzan’s identity that he’s looking for. “You need to let me finish the job.” 

—

“God,  _ fuck _ you Nasri,” he snarls out. He can feel his body running hot, and not just because of the thrumming of his biotics. His anger and aggression mask it, but deep down, Javier feels…  _ embarrassed. _

This is the second time Nasri has made him feel foolish now, the second time he feels that his friendliness and intent was thrown back in his face. Their conversation downstairs flashes across his mind’s eye and the phantom sounds of their flirtations ring in his ears. 

Being left behind in an active battle—he can sort of understand that. It’s a dog eat dog world out there, regardless of how Javier wishes it didn’t have to be. Cutting bait after you realize it’s a trap? Alright. Live to fight another day and all that shit.

But the stunt downstairs? With the heated looks, the suggestive innuendo—what had he been trying to accomplish? He feels uncomfortably exposed and it all rears back at him. Not just these embarrassing slip ups in front of someone he admires—who apparently seems hell bent on taking advantage of him—but also the weight of everything he had tried to keep shut away for the past week. 

He knows that Nasri is right, but his impulse and the roar of his emotions fuel the zip of blue light that takes him right up to the other man. Distantly he hears Nyitea mutter about male egos. His right fist collides with the side of Nasri’s mouth without hesitation and he jabs his left into his gut for good measure. 

“Faust! Settle this pissing contest  _ later _ ,” Nyitea hisses.

“I don’t mind settling it now.” Grant’s voice accompanies the distinct sound of a cocking gun.

—

_ “Captain, what’s going on?” _ he hears Nico speak into his ear, but he is in no position to reply while Faust is staring him down, cursing with venom at him.  _ “I’m sending Nura upstairs.”  _

Hell, Nico can send a whole army to the second floor if they want to, it’ll be too late either way. When he sees Faust light up with a bright blue glow in preparation for a biotic charge, he knows he’s about to eat a few hits. Karzan might be fast, he’s not fast enough to dodge a charge; there is not enough space in this office for him to maneuver out of the way. 

All he can do is brace himself right before Faust crosses the distance between them in a flash—the next moment, Karzan’s head rocks to the side, a burst of pain splitting his lower lip right before he gets the breath knocked out of him from a jab to his gut. He manages not to fall over, stumbling until his back hits the wall behind him. Blood fills his mouth, dripping down from his chin to stain his shirt.

Karzan leans back against the wall, taking a second to catch his breath. He spits out a glob of blood before looking back up at Faust, meeting his gaze with a sneer. “Feel better?” 

Goddamn it, talking stings. 

Faust’s crewmate, meanwhile, tries to talk some sense into her captain while Karzan looks around for Grant, ill at ease at having left him out of his sight for so long—and, of course, he’s proven right.

Grant has a gun in his hand, standing next to an open safe in the wall where he likely got it from while Faust and Karzan were having their little stand-off. Only, the gun is aimed squarely at Faust.

In most situations, Karzan likes to think things through before acting. 

This is not one of them.

He lunges forward, ramming into Faust to knock him out of the way just as Grant pulls the trigger.

The gunshot is deafening. Pain bursts in his shoulder, and he falls to his knees like a puppet with its strings cut. “Nngh-  _ fuck _ !” 

That bullet better have a clean exit through his back. 

Karzan grits his teeth, bunching up his tie and pressing it against the bullet wound to stop the bleeding; he closes his eyes shut, seeing white from the sharp, piercing pain. It takes him a short while to re-focus, sweat gathering above his brow from the effort; he assumes Grant has been taken care of, seeing as how he can’t hear any more gunshots.

He opens his eyes, finding Faust to glare at him. 

“ _ This  _ is why you should’ve listened to me!” he erupts. No more sense in trying to not to yell considering everyone in the mansion must’ve heard that gunshot just now. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” 

—

He’s caught off guard and stumbles on his feet, just in time for Nasri to take the bullet meant for him. Javier doesn’t have time to process his surprise before his body moves almost of its own accord. He disarms Grant before placing both his palms on either side of his head and twisting cleanly.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” The words are thrown at his back. 

‘ _ Sometimes. _ ’ Javier barely bites the response back as he turns around. Nyitea is already rushing to Nasri’s side, her icy blue eyes staring daggers at her captain. She kneels over Nasri’s shoulder.

“Shame that such a nice suit’s been ruined,” Nyitea tuts as she maneuvers the layers of his clothing out of the way so she can see the gunshot. “I’ll tell Faust you’re sending him an invoice.”

She activates her omni tool and prepares to apply medi gel. Meanwhile, Caelus’ voice pierces through the comms. “ _ What the hell just happened? _ ”

“Target is down.” Javi says flatly. He does feel better after punching Nasri, but then the man just had to go and undermine his vindication by taking a bullet for him. It’s hard to recall a mission that’s gone more sideways recently. 

“ _ Well it’s time to get the fuck out of there then. People are panicking down here, we can use the rush to escape. _ ”

Javier nods decisively at nothing in particular and strides to the threshold. He gives Nyitea a couple of seconds to patch Nasri as best she can before he emphatically opens the door. His crewmate steps up to his shoulder a few beats later. Javier glances back at Nasri, still half on the floor with a grimace and a dark look in his eyes.

Looking at his face—which even now, Javi has to admit is devastatingly handsome—stirs a maelstrom of emotions in his chest. It’s too much to sort out while he’s trying to make his escape. 

“Sorry for bloodying up such a  _ handsome _ face,” he can’t help the mockery that drips from his words. Just because the man took a bullet for him doesn’t mean he can’t still be angry. 

“Next time you want to chat just approach me man to man,” with that, he turns face and steps out of the room with Nyitea.

On the way down he and his crewmate cross paths with Leora. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t break his brisk pace when he realizes she’s likely an Immortal. 

“Your Captain’s been shot,” he lobs at her as they step past each other. “Mind sending me your coordinates so I can ship some ‘Get Well Soon’ flowers?” 

He doesn’t wait for a response, and instead blends into the crowd with Nyitea. Soon, they’re on the shuttle with the rest of the squad.

—

By the time Nura enters the office, Karzan is running through a breathing exercise to center himself. He leans against Grant’s desk while the man’s corpse lays splayed across the ground, just a few feet away from him. At least he doesn’t need to worry about bleeding out from his wound; the medi-gel Faust’s crewmate applied closed it up well enough. 

Nura steps through the doorway, gaze sweeping over the scene as she moves to Karzan’s side, eyes darting to his shoulder wound before taking in his split lip. “Things didn’t go over well with Faust, huh?” 

Karzan curtly waves his hand, brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully pushes off from the desk to right himself. 

Nura’s hand curls around his arm to support him, but he brushes it aside. “I’m fine. Let’s go.” 

She shoots him an exasperated look, but doesn’t comment as he leaves for the door, walking somewhat hunched over with his hand holding his shoulder. Nura follows, speaking to Nico over the comms in the meantime.

“Mind cleaning up Grant’s office?” he hears her say as they make their way down the stairs; the mansion is nearly empty by this point, most guests having likely ran when hearing the gunshot. “Our captain got his blood all over the crime scene.” 

Karzan hears Nico sigh in his ear. “ _ You are  _ so _ lucky I always bring spare grenades with me _ .” 

They use the balcony door to leave through the back of the mansion, cutting through Grant’s private gardens to make sure they don’t run into any guards. 

“What happened back there, Karzan?” Nura asks, catching up to walk beside him as they move along the tall hedges, hiding them from view. “I can’t remember the last time you got shot.” 

“It’s not important,” Karzan bites out with his gaze aimed straight ahead, his jaw tense. 

Nura is silent for a beat. “What about Faust?” 

Karzan takes a deep breath through his nose, trying not to grit his teeth. “It’s not. Important.” 

“He wasn’t the one who shot you, is he?” 

“No.” Karzan leads them to the back of the gardens, the gate already open and waiting for them. He refuses to spare any more of his precious time or energy thinking about Faust. “Forget about Faust. We need to wrap up any loose ends that could be traced back to us.” 

“Let Nico handle that,” Nura tells him, eyeing him like she wants to say something more about Faust, but then changes the topic. “So, mission success?” 

Karzan scoffs. “Despite Faust, yes.” 

The next time they run into each other is certainly going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Nura Danari**  
>  _First mate of the Immortals_  
>  Species: Asari  
> she/her  
> 145 years old
> 
>  **Nyitea Madri**  
>  _Field medic for the Maharlika_  
>  Species: Asari  
> she/her  
> 143 years old


	3. OMEGA - AFTERLIFE

**AFTERLIFE — MARCH 20, 2188 — 22:27**

Javier leans back against a cushion in a newly rebuilt Afterlife, one arm splayed across the top of the sofa and another one grasping a cold drink. The electronic music isn’t really to his taste but he’s learned to like it enough to let himself relax as the club flashes blue and purple around him.

The Maharlika are fresh off of two successful missions in just as many weeks. They’ve been working their way down the list of targets that Nyitea compiled at Grant’s party at a satisfying clip. Javier needed a couple of wins under his belt after the back to back disasters of Noveria and Benning.

Since his crew had been working so hard, he indulged them in a few days off on Omega. He knows the bulk of them always has business to attend to whenever they stop here—both professional and personal.

Javier had taken care of the former during the daytime—shopped for weapons and armor, checked in with his contacts, finally responded to all his messages and added to his block list—and is now looking forward to the latter. Caelus sits on a sofa adjacent to him, his unfailingly alert eyes scanning the crowd, and they have an open invite out to the rest of the crew.

Javi mimics Caelus’ observations as he takes a sip of his drink. He has a couple of regulars based on Omega, and he knows he’s bound to run into at least one without even trying tonight. He’s looking around for a different reason, though. 

There’s a disloyal part of him that wants to run into Nasri again.

He’s had a few weeks and a decent share of alone time to reflect on the Valentine’s Day Disaster as Nyitea had so kindly dubbed it when they were debriefing the crew. His head is still twisted up in the contradicting words and actions of his fellow captain. Whereas the confusion had simply infuriated him at Benning, when he had been over full with negative emotions already, the time and distance has allowed that confusion to turn into something… else. His anger is like the flames of a flamethrower: scorching and lethal and unmissable, but dissipates as soon as it runs out of fuel. Maybe now it’s curiosity instead that dances in his chest?

He’s annoyed that after all that is said and done, he’s still undeniably attracted to Nasri. The other man is just devastating, simply put. He moves with a silent, deadly grace, cut a tempting figure in a suit, and looks at him like he could devour Javier and make him enjoy every excruciating second.

But underneath that attraction still lies a sense of embarrassment and betrayal. Why lie to him? Why approach him at all? The way that the Immortals ran that mission, they could’ve pulled off being in and out without his crew noticing. But instead, Nasri chose to take advantage of Javier’s ignorance and strike up a conversation. And not just a conversation. It was rather blatantly an invitation. 

How much of that was Nikolaos, and how much of that was Nasri? At this point, there’s absolutely no way to know for sure. 

Javier hates the second guessing. He’s always been a direct person and any sort of mind fucking never sits well with him. He’d meant the last words he said to the man. It’s not like he’s ever closed the door on him the way Nasri had.

One thing he can reasonably surmise is that Nasri  _ probably _ doesn’t want to kill him, if the bullet he took for him is anything to go by. That fact alone already disqualifies him as the completely worst person that Javier’s ever been attracted to at least.

“Two o’clock,” Caelus interrupts his reflections. “Try not to get him shot at this time.”

Javi’s heart pounds before skipping a beat entirely when he turns to see the man in his thoughts materialize before him. Nasri hasn’t seemed to notice them yet, so he takes the opportunity to observe him from afar.  _ ‘Now that I know what he looks like.’ _

It’s dark so he can really only see colored flashes, but the way that Nasri carries himself is unsurprisingly promising. There’s a sense of unprovoked intensity that ripples even through his civvies. Somehow, Javier knows that this man is on the prowl tonight.

His breath almost catches at the thought.  _ ‘Don’t engage, Javi. That would be idiotic. He probably hates your guts, the damn liar.’ _

—

The weeks following the disaster on Benning, Karzan spent his time focused on his work. His routine did not change. He and the crew looted a few shipments worth of armor and weapons to redistribute among their network of Immortal agents on the planets near them, but outside of those missions, Karzan focused on training, reading, improving himself—

His crew, of course, would disagree with this assessment and call him full of shit.

Ask any of the Immortals, and their captain has spent the last few weeks brooding like a teenage boy having an elongated hormone-induced tantrum. To his credit, he hides it as much as possible, but he becomes about as pleasant to talk to as a brick wall.

Karzan, naturally, spends the whole time denying he’s brooding. He doesn’t have a reason to brood, after all. Whatever happened on Benning stayed on Benning, he’s over it. Really. He hasn’t thought about Faust a single time since the incident—except for all the times that he’s thought about Faust.

What’s most frustrating about it, if he puts his denial aside for a moment, is that it really  _ is  _ impossible to deny the physical attraction is there. Most of Karzan’s lovers, as temporary as they are, tend to be instantly forgettable as soon as the night is over with. 

Yet Faust, as much as he tries to, he cannot forget; the man was a goddamn lightning strike, leaving behind a scorch mark that Karzan is beginning to worry might not go away any time soon. Every second of their interactions so far is seared into his memory, playing on a loop behind his eyes whenever his thoughts get away from him.

Maybe it’s the fact that the possibility of having a genuine rival, who ostensibly shares his same goals, intrigues him. Let alone a rival that looks like  _ that _ —Karzan still can’t the image of teeth digging into a soft lower lip out of his mind, and it’s starting to become a problem. 

Thankfully, the solution to such a problem is an old and familiar remedy.

Once his crew is in need of a break, they head straight to Omega to relax. By this point everyone in the Immortals knows to leave Karzan by himself whenever he gets pent up like this, since no one is eager to get an eyeful of their captain hooking up with the nearest stranger. 

It might not be a strictly healthy solution, but it’s one that has worked for Karzan before. Whenever his frustration builds too high for him to handle, tensing his body in unpleasant ways, a surefire way to relieve the stress is sex. 

Afterlife is always a safe bet to find a partner as quickly as possible; other clubs don’t tend to be as selective with their clientele, and Karzan is in no mood to sort through levels of risk. He just needs a good fuck to get his night started right, get out of his own head for a bit. 

The club seems a little calm tonight, though Karzan appreciates that it’s not packed like it usually is; that makes it much harder to pick someone. Now, however, he has a clear view of the dance floor as he touches the edges of it on his way to the bar, eyes trailing over the forms of people dancing.

While he catches plenty of interested looks, none arouse his interest in return.

The night’s still young, he tells himself as he averts his eyes, approaching the bar instead. He orders a non-alcoholic drink, just to wet his lips on—while he’s not religious in the same way his parents were, as both of them were devout Muslims, some of their rules still rubbed off on him. 

Emphasis on  _ some _ . 

He leans back against the bar with a drink in hand, observing the clubgoers as he ponders which one to invite over, when one of them approaches him without his prompting.

It’s another human male—a merc, from the looks of his gait. There’s nothing else very notable about him, though Karzan appreciates the physique. The way he’s feeling tonight, he’s planning on getting a little rough, so he’d rather not have someone delicate in bed.

“Come here often?” 

The man’s opening line, however, is almost enough to make Karzan rethink; it speaks to how sexually frustrated he is that he puts up with the line with little more than a scoff.

“Try harder,” Karzan says dryly, taking a sip from his drink as his gaze wanders the bar. The merc doesn’t seem deterred, however, leaning against the bar next to him while facing him.

“Not one for small talk?” 

Karzan sighs, having no patience left to entertain the conversation. “Let’s not pretend either of us give a shit; if you want to fuck me, you can just say so.” 

“Damn.” The man laughs a little, sounding surprised but not turned off. He leans a little closer across the bar, all but pressed up to Karzan’s side, who is having trouble keeping his attention focused on whatever the man beside him is saying. “You really don’t mince words, do you? That’s alright, I like that. You know, just the other night…” 

Karzan takes another, long sip from his drink, looking around the club while the man beside him keeps chattering on and on and on.

_ ‘Allahım bana sabır ver.’ _ ¹

He’s distantly aware of a hand settling on his shoulder, but just as he decides to cut his losses and ditch this guy to look for someone less annoying, his gaze falls upon a table almost right across from him on the other end of the club.

His mouth goes dry when he sees who’s seated there, looking his way.

It just had to be him, didn’t it?

“…place, or mine?” 

Karzan barely hears the latter half of a question, too caught up in the sight of Faust seated at the table together with someone else that Karzan barely pays attention to. 

“Hmm?” He hardly glances at the man beside him. “Sure, whatever.” 

What the fuck is he supposed to do, now? They’ve both seen each other, but Karzan is far from willing to swallow his pride and head over after he already took a bullet for Faust—why he should even want to go over there, however, is just as mysterious a question. 

He should have nothing to say to Faust after that fiasco at Benning, but then why can’t he get the man out of his fucking head?

“So, should we go, or…?”

Karzan frowns at the merc as if he were an irritating fly buzzing around his head, before returning his gaze to Faust’s table. “Later.” 

Following his gaze to Faust’s table, the merc scowls. “Hey.” 

The next moment Karzan feels a grip around his chin, turning his head to face the merc. He arches his brows, though he shouldn’t be surprised; mercs tend to be rather touchy. He doesn’t pull away when the merc leans in and captures his lips in a kiss, having anticipated as much, but…

Well, okay. This is certainly a thing that’s happening, he supposes. 

¹Translates to ‘ _ God grant me patience _ ’. 

—

Time stands still for a pulse when Javier’s eyes meet Nasri’s. His hearing blinks out so that the music around him is not a sound but just the rhythmic thumping of heavy bass. Javier’s whole awareness can’t help but fixate on the man across the room.

He wonders if it’s always going to be like this. If Nasri’s presence alone, even from a distance, will always consume his senses.

His brows furrow when another man, some stranger that has claimed his mark it looks, takes Nasri’s face in his hand and kisses him. His hand grips his glass tighter as he knocks it back, his eyes not leaving the two even as their kiss continues. 

It’s one thing to assume Nasri’s intent in this bar tonight. It’s another thing completely to witness it play out. There’s an unpleasant rolling in the pit of his stomach, mixing uncomfortably with alcohol. His mind flashes back to the heated looks Nasri gave him. How his gaze had lingered tellingly on his lips. Could you fake something like that? Maybe not; Nasri hadn’t bothered hiding his dismissal of this stranger a few seconds ago.

_ ‘Yeah, but all you got to do was look. This one’s actually kissing him.’ _ Again, the disloyal part of himself makes itself known. 

Try as he might (which honestly hasn’t been that hard), he hasn’t been able to banish thoughts of Nasri. He feels like he’s analyzed their every interaction, run his mind ragged with questions regarding the man’s motives. Quietly, he’s done more research on Nasri in the past few weeks, familiarizing himself with his background and his exploits. 

Both captains of rebel pirate crews. Both with a chip on their shoulder. Both with a very distinct and uncompromising way of doing things.

Looking back, he can admit at least internally that he shouldn’t have interrupted the assassination. But he had just been so  _ upset _ and Nasri’s slight was so deeply personal. Putting a bounty out on someone is probably one of the most detached ways to harm. That is inherent in the deal made. And in his line of work, bounties are to be expected. He’d probably feel like he wasn’t doing his job right if he didn’t have a couple on him most of the time.

But Nasri had looked at him straight in the eye. Had tried to relate to him by leveraging a bogus persona. 

_ ‘He must think I’m so easy. Fucking asshole.’ _

Javier doesn’t quite want to punch him tonight; the urge passed satisfyingly as soon as he did it. And unless Nasri screws him over again enough to outweigh his bullet wound, Javier likely won’t lose his cool like he did at Benning. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to fuck with him a little bit. 

He takes a decisive inhale and exhale before getting up and throwing a “Getting a refill,” at Caelus’ direction. He firmly ignores the knowing raise of the turian’s brows before turning and making his way through the crowd. There are a few clubbers that try to catch his eye or reach out to him as he passes, but he keeps a casually brisk pace, barely even looking to check if any of them were worth his attention.

Javier shoulder checks the stranger on his way to the bar, hard enough to make him take a few steps to the side and break their kiss. He turns around with an apologetic look, as if he had just clumsily stumbled. 

“Sorry about that,” he gives the merc his most convincingly innocuous smile. He makes a show of sliding his eyes over to Nasri before leaning in close to the stranger’s ear. “I was watching you two earlier, and honestly I came over here to tell you the man you just kissed has been spreading syphilis around Omega. Might want to choose someone else for the night.”

The stranger turns bewildered eyes on Javier before flitting suspiciously at Nasri. Javier keeps his face at the right balance of friendly and concerned as he watches the gears turn slowly in the man’s head. He sees the moment he makes his decision and Javier’s friendly smile grows into a Cheshire grin when the stranger wordlessly gives Nasri a disgusted look and stomps away. 

Javier directs his grin at Nasri and winks before letting out a bark of laughter. He turns around to gesture for the bartender, thinking he might just get a shot of his favorite top shelf tonight.  _ Fuck _ , that felt good.

—

The kiss is tolerable. Karzan has had worse, as well as  _ much _ better, but the man sucking on his lips doesn’t seem to mind the lack of reciprocation on his part. He would really like it if the merc could stop tugging on his clothes, though; he spent a lot of money on his leather jacket, and he doesn’t trust where the merc’s grubby hands may have been before this. 

Fortunately, the merc is knocked off of him before Karzan has to make things unpleasant and push him away himself, but as he looks up to see the cause of it, it appears it’s not the stroke of luck he initially took it to be. 

The way his body tenses at the sight of Faust is an involuntary reaction, one he sorts out immediately after as he averts his gaze and focuses on relaxing his muscles again. 

He is aware of Faust leaning in to say something to the merc, but at this point the merc is just about the last thing on Karzan’s mind; as soon as he stomps away, he completely fades from Karzan’s awareness altogether. There’s not much room for anything else but Faust at the moment, standing beside him at the bar and grinning at him triumphantly before ordering a drink.

It annoys him. Not because he cares about the little stunt Faust pulled, but because Faust’s mere presence is now interfering and meddling with his plans. Karzan’s concentration is completely shot; when he tries looking for a better partner from among the small crowd of clubgoers, his gaze keeps wandering back to the man standing beside him at the bar. It vexes him beyond words. 

An idea occurs to him, admittedly not a wise one, but he’s too frustrated to care at this point. Seeing as how Faust seems to be in a mood to fuck with him anyway, Karzan might as well play along.

He swallows down the last of his drink, turning to face Faust while leaning with an elbow against the bar. It’s a pose reminiscent of the one he used back on Benning, though this time, his tone is far from friendly. 

“If you wanted to take his place, you could’ve just said so.” Karzan’s mocking smile is a parody of ‘Nikolaos’, tame flirtation replaced by an open challenge, although—and he hates to admit this—the heat simmering beneath it is the exact same, which only frustrates him even further. Turns out his dick doesn’t care about context. “No need to play games.”

—

Javier does decide to splurge on his favorite top shelf: some honey-mead. He enjoys how deceptively strong it is, how the sweetness lingers on his lips and ripens the drunker he gets. He’s hardly buzzed even after a few drinks; his biotics quicken the time it takes for alcohol to process, which gives him the double edged sword of feeling the effects faster but not being able to sustain it unless he just pounds them back.

That’s not really the plan tonight, though. 

Nasri leans back, an elbow anchoring him to the bar. Javier’s eye superimposes a sleek black suit on him and a sense of deja vu wraps around his consciousness. Hmm. Another detail to consider in his musings regarding how much of himself he’d put into Nikolaos. Just like when he’d first seen him across the room, Javier’s awareness hones in on the man in front of him. 

There’s a lot to take in; this close, Javier can see the peek of his collarbones, the thick eyelashes framing his fierce eyes, the pucker of a scar on his lip.  _ God _ , there is just something so irresistible about him, despite his surly exterior. He feels a little validated in the fact that he’s apparently not the only one that sees it, given how evidently easy it is for him to find someone to spend the night with in here.

Javier figures that there  _ has _ to be someone compassionate under all the layers of leather and asshole—Nasri has been clear and unshaking about his morals and motivations since the Anhur Rebellions. Javier might only have been in this game for a handful of years, but even he knows that it takes a unique personality to give a shit for so passionately and for so long,

So why the fuck can’t they just get along? The similarities between them are frustrating to note in the light of all the hissing they’ve done at each other. 

And here comes more hissing. 

“If you wanted to take his place, you could’ve just said so,” he hears Nasri goad. Despite himself, the other man’s words spark his imagination. In the back of his mind he imagines taking Nasri’s chin in his fingers and tilting it just a hair up to close the distance between their lips. Javier’s other hand would snake behind his back and under his jacket to pull their hips flush together and he would open his mouth to catch the groan Nasri lets out at the contact.

“No need to play games.” 

The next sentence however, adds wood to Javier’s fire. The fucking audacity to tell  _ him _ not to play games. He needs to remember this man is insufferable as he is alluring. 

He can’t help but lean in to crowd Nasri, close enough for the other man to hear his words without difficulty. Close enough for Javier to catch the slightly sweet, earthy musk wafting from Nasri’s tawny skin. 

“You first,” He rises to Nasri’s challenge in the way he growls out his words. The tension between them is charged with an energy that’s starting to become familiar. It’s laden with aggression and competitiveness but there’s an undeniable and growing undercurrent of attraction and curiosity. 

“Between the two of us, I’m not the one that has a track record of playing games or not being direct.” 

Around them, Afterlife buzzes with activity. But in Javier’s world, nothing exists outside of the connection of their eyes and the immediate, heavy blanket of air around them. 

“Besides, if I were to approach you, you wouldn’t have looked nearly as bored.”

—

Karzan assumed his taunting would either only serve to piss Faust off even further, or lure him in. He may not have anticipated that it would be  _ both _ ; it’s a terrible cocktail for the bad decisions that are about to be made as a result, but how can Karzan possibly back down when he was the one that issued the challenge in the first place? 

It would be a blow to his pride to slink off, even if it would be the more level headed move, but Karzan is in no mood to be level headed when Faust is eyeing him like he can’t decide whether he wants to tear into him, or  _ tear _ into him. 

When Faust leans in closer, Karzan has to clench his hand around the edge of the bar before he does something stupid. 

There is an almost frighteningly intense magnetism between them, like being drawn to each other is simply inevitable. He hates it; hates the way Faust overwhelms his senses. The dim glow of the lights surrounding them serve only to accentuate Faust’s fetching features, touching along the cut line of his jaw that Karzan’s fingers itch to trace, down his neck like an invitation to kiss or bite or maybe both, so long as it leaves a mark.

His initial curiosity is quickly starting to grow into fixation. Karzan has always kept a firm separation between his desires and his attachments. Attraction happened only with strangers in dimly-lit bars, as temporary and fleeting as the flashing of nightclub lights; no one here knew or cared who he really was beyond a handsome face. Until now.

Faust, it seems, is determined to smash right through that carefully constructed barrier, blurring the lines between two worlds Karzan has painstakingly tried to keep divided. This ought to alarm him at the very least—so then why is he giving into it so easily?

“You first,” Faust growls, the rough sound of his voice like a trigger to make Karzan’s pulse pound, blood rushing hot beneath his skin. 

It’s like the lead-up to a fight when adrenaline floods his body, but this feels so much headier. He can’t look away from Faust’s darkened eyes, piercing into his as Faust’s retort comes sharp and just as bold, daring him; how could Karzan possibly turn him down?

He lets slip a soft laugh, his smile flashing teeth as he stares back into Faust’s eyes. “You want me to be direct?” 

Leaning in, Karzan brings his lips to Faust’s ear; from this close, he can almost feel the body heat radiating from between the two of them like a living furnace. Faust’s scent is intoxicating, clinging to him like an ocean breeze. 

Karzan’s fingers dig into the edge of the bar, voice lowered to a husky tone. “If you’d approached me, I would’ve had you on your knees in my bedroom by now.” 

—

Nasri’s so close that the breath behind his words rustles the fine hairs on his earlobe and neck. His body betrays him as goosebumps erupt in the places where he can almost feel the other man. His grip on his glass tightens and his breath catches as his mind paints the picture of Nasri’s whispered taunt for him. He’s thought about it before, when he thought Nasri was Nikolaos. But now that he knows who the man really is, the image is almost painfully enticing, like a line of gasoline ripping through him to feed a much larger fire.

As in life, Javier is a giver in bed. 

One of the things he enjoys most about going down on a partner is how, for a few minutes, he’s in control of their whole world. He likes cradling the core of their whole awareness and making them unravel bit by bit. He thinks that pleasing the untamed, ruler of his own destiny type of man that Nasri is would feel empowering, intoxicating. To hold all of that poise, grace, and capacity to kill in his hands and mouth while he looked him straight in the eyes and absolutely  _ wrecked _ him… 

What would Nasri look like, he wonders, if he had his lips wrapped around him and sweetly tortured him with his tongue and the hollow of his cheeks? If he’d pushed him off the sudden edge of his pleasure and didn’t break the hold of his gaze as he swallowed all the evidence? 

The fist he has in his pocket clenches in an attempt to resist—something. He’s not sure exactly what. His own energy is pulling him a thousand different ways. If this had been anyone other than Nasri, he would’ve dragged them to the nearest enclosed space to play out the fantasy playing on a loop behind his eyes. But then again, if this hadn’t been Nasri, he probably wouldn’t feel like a torch just waiting to be lit up every time they came across each other.

He tamps down the urge with a thick swallow before mirroring Nasri’s posture. Javi pushes the envelope just a little further and tilts his head so that when he speaks, his lips graze the lobe of his ear with a feather light touch. 

“Have you thought of me on my knees and in your bedroom often, captain?”

He doesn’t get the satisfaction of being able to see Nasri’s face, but the way they both stand stock still, like a cat waiting for its moment to pounce, speaks volumes.

Someone jostles Javier for some space at the bar and breaks the moment. He blinks twice before stepping aside to put some space between himself and Nasri. There’s an instinct to backtrack—what if he had overestimated and Nasri was just playing him like before? He’s still unsure, but there’s a growing part of him that wants to see what Nasri will do if Javier keeps pushing his buttons. ‘ _ Either a punch or a kiss, probably. Maybe both _ .’

“Feel free to keep fantasizing about me. Maybe that’ll help you loosen up a little, hm?” He gives Nasri a smirk twisted by the challenging attitude that roared between them. From the corner of his eye, he sees some of his other crew members joining Caelus at the sofas. He makes to meet them, clapping Nasri’s shoulder along the way. He resists the urge to keep his hand there when he remembers it’s the same one that had a hole in it the last time they saw each other. 

He turns back one last time with his parting words. “By the way—thank you. For Benning. I owe you one. Come collect anytime,” he tilts his head towards his crew with the slightest context of an invitation. “ _ Reasonably _ .”

With that, he walks away. Thank God he wore his best pair of jeans tonight.

—

There’s the softest brush of lips against the edge of his earlobe, almost as teasing as the words that follow: “Have you thought of me on my knees and in your bedroom often, captain?”

Karzan’s whole body tenses, rendering him like a statue, afraid of what he might do if he moves. He hadn’t thought of it, only due to the great effort he put in to distract himself before his imagination spiraled too far out of his control—and he had known full well that’s where his thoughts would lead him to, if he let them. 

Now, however, it’s an avalanche that he can’t stop anymore as erotic images snowball into fantasies he knows he won’t be able to forget about anytime soon. 

It puts his earlier quest of finding someone to spend the night with in stark contrast; he can’t imagine that there would be anyone in this bar that could measure up to even the mere  _ fantasy _ of having Faust’s lips wrapped around his cock. It’s a thought so arousing that Karzan only barely resists the urge to readjust his trousers, but his impulse control is hanging by a thread.

When the tension is broken by the world around them finally bursting through their little bubble, Karzan almost lets out a sigh of relief as Faust takes a step back and puts some much-needed distance between them. Karzan relaxes his vice like grip on the edge of the bar, almost expecting to see the indentations of his nails in it from how hard he was gripping it.

Faust greets him with a smirk, throwing a few more taunting words his way before he claps Karzan on the shoulder, which might as well be a rock with how tense he is—the same shoulder he got shot in. 

It seems Faust must realize as much as well. His parting words take Karzan by surprise, though not for long as his eyes are inevitably drawn to Faust’s retreating form. 

Well, one specific part of his retreating form, which looks so good in those jeans Karzan finds himself licking his lips before he even realizes it.

God, he needs a smoke.

With Faust gone back to his table after that little encounter, the rest of the clubgoers look painfully sub-par in comparison. Karzan is still pent up—even more so than before—but he suspects he’ll have to settle for a night of getting reacquainted with a few of his neglected sex toys rather than stoop to a stranger who couldn’t possibly measure up to whatever  _ that _ was.

Karzan rolls his shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness in them as he pays for his drink, then makes his way for the exit, patting down his jacket for his case of cigarettes and his lighter. It’s a good thing he’s built up the habit to always have a few rolled in advance; he’s not sure that he’d be coordinated enough to pull it off in his current state.

He finds his case of cigarettes as he steps outside, taking one and stuffing the case back into his inner jacket, holding the cigarette between his lips as he searches for his lighter. Why does he always forget where he put the damn thing?

As he turns his pockets inside out, a tad more aggressively than necessary, the lighter falls out, clattering and sliding over the ground. Kissing his teeth with irritation, Karzan is about to bend down to pick it up when the lighter is enveloped by a biotic field, flying up into another’s hand.

“Drop something?” It’s Faust’s asari crewmate who accompanied him on Benning, though Karzan doesn’t know her name. She gives him a smile that somehow eyes cold as she approaches, flipping the top of the lighter open, igniting the flame with a quick flick of her thumb. “Allow me.” 

Karzan eyes her warily but nonetheless leans down, lighting the tip of his cigarette and sucking in the smoke, pulling back to breathe it out in a deep sigh. He extends his hand toward the lighter, but she pulls it out of his reach.

“How is your shoulder doing?” she asks, a measured look in her eyes.

“Fine.” Karzan does recall that she took the time to help staunch his bleeding back then, and he’d neglected to thank her for it. “I appreciated the assist back on Benning.” 

“Oh, it’s the least I could’ve done after you took a bullet for Faust,” she replies nonchalantly, though she still keeps his lighter out of reach. 

Karzan frowns as he takes another drag from his cigarette, then swipes at the lighter without warning, just to test her. 

She steps away quickly; good reflexes. “Ah-ah! Where are your manners, captain? That’s hardly the way to get something from a lady.” 

Karzan arches a single brow. “You’ll have to forgive me for not knowing I was dealing with one.” 

She laughs. “No wonder Faust clocked you.” 

“Tch.” He glares at her. “Are you going to give me my lighter back?” 

After giving him a long, considering look, she eventually tosses it back to him. He catches it with a hand, quickly stuffing it back into a pocket, pointedly ignoring the way she’s staring at him. 

“…Poor Faust.” 

Karzan blinks up at her. “What?” 

She flashes him a cat-like grin, too sharp to be friendly. “I’ll see you around, captain.” 

As she heads off toward the entrance, leaving him to smoke in peace, Karzan realizes he forgot to ask her what her name is. Ah, well. He puts the matter aside and begins the walk toward his apartment, ready to call it a night. 


	4. APRIL 2188

**APRIL 10, 2188**

After Omega, the Maharlika keep going down the list from Benning. They’re on a solid streak so even after they run out of leads, Javier figures they might as well try for every guest that RSVP’d. It ends up being a solid bet.

They’ve been busy with the circling loop of raids and re-distributing the loot. They’re making significant ground in bolstering their presence in some key locations. But most importantly, they’re slowly but surely increasing the radius within which they can help people. And now, he’s heard whispers that the circle of rich CEOs that were on Benning is scared to have gatherings. Everyone knows Grant was killed at his own party then all of his guests got hit. Win fucking win.

The mood’s been light and cheerful aboard the Kasama. As a result, his crew had been getting increasingly more creative about and more amused at his current… situation with the captain of the Immortals.

Caelus and Nyitea had gotten in their fair share on the shuttle back to Kasama after Benning, with Aviria joining in on the gossip and immediately spreading it around the ship when they got back on board. The teasing began anew at Omega. Caelus, a few drinks in, had been more than happy to tell the latecomers about his latest interaction with the other captain once they were all seated on the sofas.

_ “I’ll never understand humans. Your species makes sex way too complicated. You both want each other. He _ obviously  _ came here to find someone to take home tonight. Just fuck him and get it out of your system.” _

_ “It’s not that simple. I can’t get a good read on him at all. Plus, bullet or not, he’s still an asshole.” _

_ “Didn’t know your dick had a moral compass.” _

_ “It does, actually. This is a no asshole zone. Learned that the hard way.” _

_ “Evidently not, with the way you and Captain Nasri look at each other.” _

_ “Like hissing cats?” _

_ “No, like you’ve already plotted the five different ways you’re about to fuck each other.” _

Everyone, much to his blushing chagrin, knows about his little tête-à-tête with Nasri in Afterlife. He’s almost grateful for the stranger that had popped their bubble. He had been  _ dangerously _ close to doing something he couldn’t take back. When he walked away, there was a slow, sweet tension throbbing between his legs. With how he reacted when they were face to face, and with how numerous and vivid his daydreams have gotten since then, he highly doubts that anything with Nasri would be a one and done sort of deal. 

Now, the crew is wrapping up one of their last jobs from the Benning list. Irdan and Aviria are with him, since the hit involves taking control of one of the freighter ships. It’s one of the larger targets they’ve had in a while, and they saved it for last to get extra time and extra practice to prepare. 

They’ve cleared out the ship and now they stand in the command center, trying to get control of the ship as quickly as possible. It’s a large, oval shaped room; the controls are on a round upper level at the end against large glass windows. Javier steps up to a control panel and attaches a device that Caelus had given him during the mission briefing while Aviria moves the pilot’s unconscious body out of the seat. 

“Green light, Caelus,” he speaks into his helmet. The screen flashes white as his first mate takes control from the Kasama right above the freighter ship. In the same moment, Javier hears a commotion behind him. 

“Incoming, Irdan,” he gives the orders decisively as he unholsters his shotgun and turns to face the door. “Aviria, be ready to man the ship as soon as Caelus has hacked it.”

Javier steps down the stairs leading up to the control panel while Irdan leverages the vantage point of the control panel to pick off any stragglers that get through Javier. 

The tell tale stomp of heavy boots signal that they’ve run out of time as Javier settles behind his cover. He mentally runs through a new offensive sequence he’s been wanting to test out while he regulates his breath. He peeks around to see that the intruders are mercenaries. His smile grows behind his helmet. Time to have some fun, then. 

Javier sends a shockwave towards the door that knocks the first line over like bowling pins. He zips over to the nearest merc in a flare of blue to jab the butt of his Scimitar Into their neck. As they stumble back, he focuses his attention on a merc that’s rushing him from the side. He swings his shotgun to pierce them with incendiary ammo straight to the chest. The merc bursts into flames and the sight sends the rest of them scrambling. Once they break formation, Irdan picks them off easily.

The battle is over after several minutes. Javier’s shields take the bulk of the beating, but he can tell he’ll need to get his right shoulder checked out. It’s more delicate and used than his left. Dr. Olaniyi would kick his ass personally if he didn’t go see her after this.

Through the comms though, he knows that Saritia is engaged in a space battle with the merc ship. There doesn’t seem to be anything to worry about, but Javier makes his way to the cannons all the same. They’re ditching the freighter eventually after all—might as well play with his toys while he has them. He feels the ship moving under his feet as he settles in his seat, hands gripping the controls for the cannon.

_ “Whoa, this ship feels so different from the Kasama,” _ he hears Aviria comment through the comms. The ship’s movements are a little jerky for a few seconds before his pilot seems to get the hang of it. 

“Did you know that when the asari built the original freighters that they modeled the shielding technology after an inspect species native to the planet Sanves?” his other crew member chimes in.

“What about the insect inspired them, Irdan?” Javier always learns something new from the salarian. It’s one of many on a long list of reasons why he keeps the man around.

Irdan somehow manages to handle the cannons expertly while launching into lecture worthy explanations of early spaceship shields. Javier listens, enjoying the juxtaposition of Irdan’s expert marksmanship and his own penchant to shoot at what’s going to make the most satisfying explosion. 

Once the merc ship is down, Javier stands up to whoop and give Irdan an emphatic fist bump. “You’re a fucking master, Irdan.”

“Likelihood of their success was low, I knew from their armor and weaponry that their ship was unlikely to be equipped with strong enough shields.”

“Had you already done this math when you saw me just shooting at shit?”

Irdan gives him the salarian equivalent of an indulgent smile. “Yes, captain.”

Javier lets out a belly laugh as they walk back towards the cargo bay. “Good man, Irdan.” 

Several of the other crew members climb onboard the freighter to suck it dry of loot before they meet one of Javier’s contacts to drop off the freighter. He grins at them as they all get to work. It’s within scenes like these when he really feels like a _ pirate _ . There’s a giddiness in knowing that you just notched another victory. It’s even sweeter still when you take into consideration all the other people that are winning alongside you. 

—

**10 APRIL, 2188 CE**

“You’re crazy,” Karzan hears his turian pilot insist loudly as he makes his way into the hangar. He finds Desius crouched by the Mako, seeming to be doing some upkeep on the tires while arguing something with Nura standing beside him. “The shield technology of Armax’ Predator series is unsurpassed.” 

“For light armor, maybe,” Nura replies. “Last I checked, Jormangund’s Crisis and Hazard armors are the superior choice for medium sizes—not that it matters, considering Kassa Fabrications blows them both out of the water in every size. The Colossus series has by far the best damage protection out of any brand.” 

“Shields regenerate,” Desius shoots back, putting down his tools and lifting his head to look at Nura now leaning back against the side of the Mako. “Armor doesn’t.” 

“How often do you wreck your armor, Veris?” 

Desius huffs. “I may have made a dent or two.” 

“Wow.” Nura stares at him for a moment. “I guess this is why we don’t take you out on missions. Ever thought that if you had been wearing Kassa—”

“Oh, come on, you can’t be serious,” Desius interrupts. “Do you have some sort of sponsorship we should know about? Is that what this is, you shilling for Kassa?” 

Nura laughs, shaking her head. “I’d rather shill for Kassa than Armax any day of the week.” 

Karzan clears his throat, directing both their gazes to him. “Playing nice?” 

“Sure,” Desius responds, glancing at Nura. “If allowing someone to be completely wrong in every way is nice, then yes, I’m playing very nice.” 

“They’ve been going at it for nearly an hour,” Zaehi pipes up, standing above them on the upper floor balcony, the lights reflected in her blue-tinged quarian mask. She’s draped over the railing beside Sarak, their resident batarian engineer, who lets out a long-suffering sigh. “It’s impressive, really.” 

“Why don’t we ask the captain to solve this for us?” Desius suggests, and Nura takes a step back to glare at him, hand leaning on one cocked hip.

“The captain is biased,” she replies immediately, causing Karzan to arch his brows. “You can’t ask him to make the call.” 

“What am I biased about, exactly?” 

“Here we go,” he hears Sarak bemoan as Desius’ mandibles spread in a slow, specific way before snapping back into place that Karzan has come to read as the turian equivalent for a grin.

“Armax Arsenal or Kassa Fabrications?” Desius asks.

“Kassa Fabrications is human-owned,” Nura quickly adds before Karzan can even begin to think about how to answer that question as Desius reels back to look at Nura.

“Seriously, Danari?” Desius mocks. “Weren’t you  _ just  _ accusing me of favoritism, since Armax Arsenal is a turian brand?” 

“It’s just something to consider,” Nura defends hastily. “Not a deciding factor.” 

“Either way, he’s been wearing Armax for years,” Desius retorts. “I think that’s answer enough, right, captain?” 

Karzan crosses his arms; he knows a hornet’s nest when he sees one. “I am not getting involved with this.” 

“Good choice,” Sarak comments while Zaehi tilts her head, humming with what sounds like disappointment. 

“If we’re going to table the discussion,” Desius says, getting up to his feet and leaning back against the Mako. “You catch the vids about Therum, captain?”

The site of their most recent mission. Karzan should’ve expected it, considering the unprecedented miners’ riots had been swarming with journalists; of course they would’ve noticed the private security forces dropping dead like flies.

“Did they get any footage of us?” 

“None,” Nura answers, smiling with smug satisfaction. “The mining company ceded; they signed a legally binding agreement just a few hours ago. Also, some of the miners approached our contacts on the ground and asked to join. There are a few hopefuls who even want to join the crew.” 

“Tell them to stay on Therum,” Karzan answers without having to think about it. “They can do more good there than on the ship with us.” 

Nura glances down at his black skin-suit, which he usually wears beneath his armor, and shoots him a knowing look. “Working out in the training room again?” 

He averts his gaze, keenly aware of the layer of sweat beneath his suit; usually he would’ve changed into more comfortable clothes before a workout, but he only went a few rounds against a punching bag to get rid of some tension. The training room is behind the hangar on the lowest floor of the ship, necessitating that he come through the hangar first if he wants to use the elevator.

Karzan is just relieved he had the foresight to wait a while before leaving the training room. The cause for his tension—a certain memory of Omega—abated somewhat during his workout as he focused on throwing basic jabs and kicks, but considering he’s wearing a skinsuit the bulge would’ve still been visible immediately afterwards. 

“I’m heading upstairs,” Karzan replies without answering Nura’s question, his tone stiff, and he can feel the eyes of the crew on him as he walks straight toward the elevator. He doesn’t relax until the doors safely close on him, the elevator moving to carry him up to his cabin for some privacy.

The past few weeks have been agonizing. He has had to force himself to concentrate, finding his thoughts drifting off and making him uncharacteristically forgetful; Nura has had to catch his mistakes, gracefully keeping his slip-ups from the rest of the crew, but that doesn’t mean Karzan isn’t still mortified by it. The only time he has felt like himself is while out on missions, where he can forget about everything else and focus on the weight of his sniper rifle in his hands. 

Before, his lust rarely had any focus, and when it did, it was always temporary. A lengthy fixation like this on any single person is something he has never experienced, and it’s driving him crazy. His usual methods of working off his stress are no longer an option; whenever they touched down on a planet and he found a bit of free time between missions, he still couldn’t bring himself to choose anyone to sleep with. 

Once, he got so frustrated that he all but forced himself to pick someone from a seedy bar, taking them around back. It wasn’t until the stranger was on his knees in front of him and Karzan noticed absently that the man had a similar sort of build, similar sort of dark hair to a certain someone else, that the realization hit him and he backed out at the last moment, horrified. 

It has left him with very few options for relief, ones that feel woefully inadequate.

When the elevator arrives and Karzan steps out into the safety of his cabin, the first thing he does is strip out of his skinsuit and his underwear, heading right for the small bathroom attached to his cabin. 

Karzan makes it a point to not even think of the name until he has complete privacy. The spray of hot water on his skin and the steam that fills the shower does nothing to temper the lust he has been keeping suppressed for days on end, not having had the time to take care of himself while on the mission on Therum. Now, though?

Now he’s free to imagine Faust’s calloused hands running down his chest, down his stomach, gripping his bare hips, sliding around his back to cup and squeeze his ass as Faust’s hungry mouth meets his own in a wet kiss. Karzan’s own hand traces the same path down his body as the imaginary ones did, but he stops himself at the last second. If he’s going to do this, he should do it lying comfortably on his bed rather than wasting water in the shower.

Washing off his sweat, Karzan keeps the fantasy playing in the back of his mind. He’s had sex in the shower before—not his favorite, admittedly—but the feeling of wet skin, hot from the water, pressed up against his own is one he remembers well. 

Imagining it with Faust, however, is something completely different. Karzan can’t get out of the shower fast enough, shutting off the water when he’s done and quickly drying himself off; he doesn’t bother putting on clothes, heading straight for the bed with his curls still damp, clinging to his forehead as he settles down on the mattress, reaching for the lotion he keeps on his bedside table.

He pictures pinning Faust against the shower wall while sucking a bruise into his neck, listening to him groan as his fingers dig into Karzan’s back. The heat surrounding them would be suffocating, made worse with their gasps and moans in-between their kisses, urgent and almost frantic. The way their bodies would press against each other, hardened cocks rubbing together—

Karzan grips his erection in his hand, reclined against the pillows of his bed as he bites into his lower lip to smother the noise building in his throat. His other hand is clenched into the sheets beneath him as he slowly slides his fingers up his shaft, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the head of his dick, nearly letting out a curse for how it makes his hips jump. 

God, he wants to fuck Faust. Karzan can admit it here, indulge in it as much as he wants, but the most frustrating part of it is that no matter how much he thinks about it, how much he explores it, it never lessens his need. At this point nothing short of  _ actually _ fucking Faust will be enough to rid himself of it.

But in the meantime, he’ll have to make due with the fantasies his mind supplies him, tempting him into envisioning what it would look like to have Faust in front of him, leaning with his forearms against the shower wall, bent forward with his legs spread shamelessly. Karzan will switch up their roles every now and then—just last week he’d been working himself with a dildo, imagining Faust fucking him on his bed instead—but today his mood is a different one.

Faust would take Karzan’s cock so well, moaning like he’s desperate for it; Karzan imagines wrapping his arms around him from behind, rutting against him slow and deep, kissing his neck and making him tremble with it until he can’t stand it anymore.

Karzan’s hand keeps up with the fantasy, speeding up as he steadily pumps his cock, toes curling and body tensing. He almost forgets to breathe in between, so caught up in his daydream as his erection throbs and he feels himself reaching the brink—in the end, the thing that pushes him over the edge is as soft as an imagined whisper, breathed out in a hot gasp.

_ “Karzan,  _ **_please_ ** _ …”  _

It’s almost embarrassing; he cums so suddenly he can’t smother his voice anymore, an obscene groan that sounds deafeningly loud in the otherwise silent room as he works his length until it nearly starts to ache. The tension escapes his body with a single, deep exhale as he’s rendered boneless on the bed, eyes closed while he tries to catch his breath.

The aftermath is always painfully unsatisfactory, the relief from his orgasm too temporary to truly sate him. Karzan peels his eyes open again once his body has cooled down, and glances at the digital clock on his bedside table, considering the time. Three more hours until dinner.

That should be enough time to tire himself out and, hopefully, allow him to forget Faust again.

At least for a few days. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Irdan Vilzik**  
>  _Weaponry and armor for the Maharlika_  
>  Species: Salarian  
> he/him  
> 20 years old
> 
>  **Aviria Dexidas**  
>  _Co-pilot for the Maharlika_  
>  Species: Turian  
> she/her  
> 23 years old
> 
>  **Desius Veris**  
>  _Pilot of the Immortals_  
>  Species: Turian  
> he/him  
> 30 years old
> 
>  **Zaehi’Sharra nar Seeron**  
>  _Crewmate of the Immortals_  
>  Species: Quarian (on her Pilgrimage)  
> she/her  
> 21 years old
> 
>  **Sarak Barnarok**  
>  _Engineer of the Immortals_  
>  Species: Batarian  
> he/him  
> 37 years old


	5. TRIDENT I

**JUNE 12, 2188 — 06:16**

**TO:** Captain Faust

Greets, Captain. 

My name is Sadaha T’veze. My wife, Lorina, has been abducted by Eldfell-Ashland Energy. She, along with multiple refugee families, are being kept on Trident for the next few days before they’re moved off world and become cogs in EAE’s machine.

I will be at the attached coordinates on Trident by 0900 local time tomorrow. _Please_ help me. I can’t do this on my own.

Hopefully,

Sadaha T’veze

**KASAMA WAR ROOM — JUNE 12, 2188 — 06:28**

“Take a look at this.” Javier slides his datapad across the long table in the war room as Caelus steps in.

“Are we about to be under attack or something? Can’t remember the last time you sent me a code yellow this early in the morning,” Caelus notes as he reaches for the datapad.

“Of course not, that’s more like a code orange or red,” Javi shoots back indignantly.

“I don’t know… sometimes you’re awfully calm about getting hit or blown up.”

Javier sucks on his cheeks. “Caelus—the datapad.”

Caelus holds their eye contact for a second longer before finally running his gaze over the datapad. Javier absently stares at the stars flying past the Kasama for a few beats as his first mate reads. “What do you think?”

“If it’s a trap, whoever set it really knows how to get you to act,” a low flanging underlies Caelus’ wariness. 

“But if it’s not a trap, I ignored a chance to get those families out of EAE’s bloody motherfucking hands.”

“Why ask me what I think, then? Sounds like you’ve made up your mind,” the turian says it with no hint of sarcasm or discontent, just the knowledge and experience that comes with being Javier’s right hand man for years. Caelus, while not impulsive like Javier, has an “ask for forgiveness, not permission” attitude that only cemented itself further in the years after the war. He joined the Maharlika because he admired and respected Javier’s fearlessness and genuine motivations. Luckily for all of them, most of Javier’s big risks tend to pay off, the lucky bastard. Caelus has learned that his place in the crew is as the flexible but firm counterbalance; like bamboo bending and swaying in a strong, unpredictable wind but never breaking.

Caelus already knows that if Javier has made a decision to go to Trident, he would be asked to alert Saritia to set the course as soon as he leaves the room. He knows that just as surely as he knows he would be there to help Javier plan and figure it out.

“I just don’t want to run into another Noveria situation. Especially not at an EAE property.” Javier’s been trying to be pickier about which bets he’ll make these days. Though his usual style is to improvise, he’s been having to up his game recently and this ended up being one of the most intuitive places to start. 

That’s one thing about this… unnamed competition that he’s playing with Nasri. It’s really served to help him sharpen the way he does things. He tucks away the images and memories that overflow just at the provocation of thinking the man’s name. The habit of compartmentalizing has become easier over the months he hasn’t run into the other captain in person, but he hears of him often enough that Nasri manages to stay in his head without ever fading completely. 

“Higher stakes, bigger prizes. Let’s roll the dice, captain,” Caelus gives him a reassuring, confident look. “I don’t want to live with that on my conscience and I know you don’t either.”

**ABOARD THE FEREYDUN — JUNE 12, 2188**

The rich, bitter blend of tea warms Karzan’s throat pleasantly as he scrolls through the datapad handed to him by Nura, a few others of his crew gathered around him in the mess hall. They had just been sharing some drinks and playing cards together when his first mate entered with the intel in hand.

“What does it say?” Min-ji asks, seated on his right and seeming to resist the urge to peer over his shoulder to read along with him, which is exactly what Valena is doing, seated on his left. 

“According to our contact, there have been similar stories coming out of Trident for weeks now,” Karzan replies, skimming over the report sent to him soon after his inquiry; after receiving the kind of message he did this morning, he had to check his network to make sure the story held up. “No one has had eyes on the ground to confirm it, however; EAE has kept the area blocked off from outsiders for the past several months.” 

“Sounds suspicious,” Sarak comments from across the table. “I doubt this is a trap, but if it is, it’s an elaborate one.” 

“I have heard of patients admitted to Huerta who were former employees of EAE,” Laenan, their salarian medic, says. He was a junior doctor back on the Citadel before he joined their crew, revolted by its privatized healthcare system. “I never treated any myself, but the stories I heard were… unpleasant.” 

“Physically speaking?” Karzan asks, and Laenan shakes his head.

“That was certainly part of it, but the greatest problems were psychological in nature.” Laenan’s lips curl downwards, black eyes contrasting the pale pink of his skin narrowing halfway. “Deep depression, depersonalization, even suicidal tendencies. Their whole lives revolved around EAE; being separated from it was a necessity, but they didn’t know how to live or define themselves without it. It’s the closest thing to brainwashing I’ve ever come across.”

Besvan, in charge of their armory and a batarian like Sarak—both hail from Anhur, like Karzan—grunts with disgust. “Sounds like we need to blow a few EAE offices to pieces.”

“After freeing whoever is trapped there,” Sarak adds pointedly.

“So, we’re going to help?” Min-ji says to Karzan, though she may have well been urging him on with how she arches her brows at him.

It seems unlikely for it to be a trap, but then again, the case on Noveria didn’t seem likely to be a trap until they got there. 

Karzan turns to Nura. “Did you look at the coordinates T’veze sent us?” 

He guessed that, being this concerned her wife, if T’veze wasn’t lying she’d likely stay as close as possible to where her wife was being kept. Logically speaking, that meant there should be an EAE hold nearby. 

Nura nods. “There is a major facility a few miles away following the shoreline, though entry to its facilities is barricaded. We can’t land any closer than where T’veze is without being detected; from that point, we’ll have to travel by shuttle to reach the facility.”

Karzan turns to Sarak, who has some background architectural engineering—though his specialty is ship maintenance—and is as such usually in charge of gathering location intel for their missions. “Any chance we can get its floorplans?”

While the mission isn’t a sure thing yet as they have to meet up with T’veze first, Karzan likes to be prepared.

“Doubtful.” All four of Sarak’s brows lower into a frown. “The facility on Trident is one of its newest ones, built right after the war. I could make an educated guess based on the exterior, but I couldn’t give you any guarantees.” 

Karzan thinks for a moment. “In case T’veze can’t help us, look for similar EAE buildings on other planets. The floorplans won’t be an exact match, but it’s better than going in blind.” He turns to Valena. “You’re coming with me.” 

“Finally!” Valena exclaims, having stayed behind on the ship for the past few missions as they hadn’t suited her strengths. Considering they might be dealing with a distressed asari concerned about her wife, however, Valena is probably best suited to put her at ease. She has a natural knack for calming people in dire circumstances.

But if things do go sideways, having a lethally accurate assault rifle by his side couldn’t hurt.

**TRIDENT — JUNE 13, 2188 — 08:42**

A grim, focused silence shrouds the shuttle as it hovers over Trident’s expansive ocean, zipping toward the coordinates provided in the message Javier received yesterday.

He and Nyitea sit side by side on the bench, their shoulders and upper arms touching lightly in a silent show of her concern for him. Javier thought that taking Nyitea with him would be the best play; if Sadaha is distressed then a familiar presence might help soothe things over.

Eldfell-Ashland Energy has been on the Maharlika’s Moby Dick List pretty much ever since the main crew formed. They’ve taken advantage of random opportunities to loot and raid their shipments, but they’ve never had a lead for something as big as _this._

He’s trying to find the right balance between being mindful and being indecisive. In this job you never know when some gnarly shit is waiting just behind the door. The Maharlika was pretty evenly split on whether or not it was a real lead, but they all agreed that regardless of the risk they had to explore it. He feels grateful to have a crew that has his back. Javier just desperately hopes this bet pays off. Or, if shit goes south, that they’re ready to pull through.

“Credit for your thoughts?” Nyitea’s voice breaks his reflections. 

Javier lets out a long sigh. “Just torn between bucking up for a fight or softening up to comfort a woman whose wife was taken from her. My head fucking hurts.”

“I’ve always said that it’ll be your big heart that gets us all killed one day,” she sighs dramatically, though somehow still coming off as aloof. But the way her fingers fiddle idly with a latch on her armor betray her consternation. 

“That’s why I keep you and your cold ass heart around. It shields me. Like a bulletproof vest made of glaciers.” That rips a genuine chuckle from her and she elbows him in the side. He lets out his own chuckle and the mood around them becomes less heavy. Javier takes a deep breath, chest lighter than it was a few minutes ago. 

“What about my heart?” Aviria chips in from the pilot seat. 

“ _Your_ heart is stuffed full of insane pilot dares and cheesy romance novel plots.”

“I think what she really means to say is that you’re creatively courageous and romantically optimistic—”

“Why waste money on romance novels when I can just watch the one playing out between Faust and Captain Nasri?” 

“— _Wooooow_ , Aviria,” he exaggerates a put out pout as his crewmates’ amusement echoes around him. 

“Please, Faust. You’re a sucker for the strong, rugged, hard to pin down type. As soon as I saw him I knew you were in trouble,” Nyitea supplies in between tinkling laughs.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, strong and rugged is definitely your type, Faust. Let’s see,” Aviria counts off after her sharp cackling subsides. “One of your most recent exes is a bounty hunter who you met while they were literally in the middle of an armed standoff.”

“I _know_ you have a smuggler fuck buddy on Omega,” Nyitea adds.

“Oh Nyitea, I know _you_ aren’t trying to talk shit about dating histories right now,” Javier throws the hot potato away from him, mockingly copying the asari’s tone. He _definitely_ doesn’t want to rehash his exes. He’s actively running the fuck away from one, after all. “Besides, this one is different.”   
  
“Because Nasri didn’t immediately fall for your boyish charm and you’re unused to that?” They both snicker.

“No,” He rolls his eyes. “Because it’s not going to happen.” 

Nyitea just shoots him an enigmatic smile before changing the subject.

Aviria drops them off by a cave on a rocky shore. They’re both armed with their pistols—Javier decided against wielding his axe since it wouldn’t do to terrify Sadaha as a first impression—and move quietly but efficiently over the rocks. When they reach the lip of the cave they stop. Javier peers into the damp entrance and sees a lone asari pacing in front of a lamp on the ground.

He gives Nyitea a silent signal with his fingers before stepping slowly into the light. Nyitea is right behind him as they approach, still tense with defensiveness but lowering their pistols. Sadaha watches them warily, though there’s a cautiously hopeful demeanor to the way she unfurls her spine to stand up a little straighter as they get closer.

“By the Goddess, you made it! You got my message about my wife and the refugees, I’m assuming?” Sadaha’s eyes are teary and her exhaustion and grief are clear from the way her shoulders sag.

“Yes, I did,” Javier offers her a comforting smile as he holsters his pistol. “I’m Captain Faust. This is one of my crew members, Nyitea Madri. We’re here to help you.”

“I can’t believe you came!” Sadaha has a hand gripping each of his elbows. She steps closer to Javier and he instinctually opens his arms to support her in a hug. There’s a small part of him that braces to be stabbed—a foolish move given the layers of his shields and armor but an option for the desperate nonetheless—but the moment passes as Sadaha sobs softly into his chestplate. Nyitea places a hand on Sadaha’s shoulder and they give the woman a few moments.

“I’m just glad we were close enough to get here on time,” he admits when Sadaha eventually collects herself and steps away. He was already planning a painful vengeance for EAE, but the clear distress radiating from Sadaha bolsters his motivation even more. This is exactly why he’s started doing this, and he can feel his whole being prepare to act. 

“What can you tell us about where the hostages are being kept?” Sadaha swipes at her tears with her sleeve before responding.

“Oh, well—” she looks at him a little sheepishly. “I asked someone else to come because I wasn’t sure which one of you would be able to help me. Maybe we can wait a few more minutes to see if they’ll show up?”

“Who else did you send a message to?” He hears himself ask distantly. In the back of his mind he already knows that the universe has been waiting on this moment to laugh in his fucking face.

“Captain Nasri and the Immortals.”

Nyitea immediately snorts, though she tries her best to make it sound like a cough.

“Fu—fantastic.” He keeps his face reading supportive and comforting even though his heart rate just jumped. “The Immortals. A completely logical choice for this job.”

He resolutely does _not_ look at Nyitea.

—

The shuttle ride passes by calmly—on Karzan’s part, that is. Valena can’t seem to help herself and chatters on endlessly beside him. It’s only due to the fact that he’s so used to it that he tolerates it, though admittedly there are other things he’d rather listen to than the latest developments in her relationship with Nura.

“Desius is such an asshole sometimes,” Valena sulks while the distant tune of a song filters in from the shuttle cockpit, where Nico is listening to their latest custom playlist. “I keep telling him to stop bickering with Nura, and every time he accuses me of taking her side! I’m not taking sides! Am I?” 

“Valena,” Karzan says patiently. “What makes you think I have any fucking idea what you should do in this situation?” 

She sighs. “I know, I know! I’m just venting. But seriously, why’d Desius get so prickly all of a sudden? He didn’t care when Nura and I were dating casually, so why is it an issue when we’ve gotten serious?” 

Karzan is silent, though he does consider the way Desius and Nura have been interacting recently. They always got into arguments and disagreements before, but those have always been friendly. He hasn’t noticed any bickering that has gotten out of hand—they’re both too professional for that—although he has noticed Desius seems more distant lately. Joins crew hangouts less often, spends more time in the cockpit, and if he’s not there then he’s down in the hangar working on something.

“Do you think…” Valena hesitates. “Do you think it’s because he feels alone?”

The remark, while said innocently, makes Karzan tense with a distinct, yet unnamed discomfort. He doesn’t know why the suggestion makes him feel so uneasy, but would rather not linger on it, so he brushes it aside. “Have you asked him about how he’s been feeling about all of this?”

Valena winces. “Not… exactly…” 

Karzan gives her a look.

“Fine, fine, I’ll talk to him!” 

From the cockpit, the volume of the music dims down for a second as Nico calls out, “ETA in three minutes!” 

The seascape gives way to rocky terrain as Nico drops them off near the edge of the shore. Karzan puts his helmet and mask on while Valena leaves hers off; at least one of them ought to look approachable in order not to scare the daylights out of T’veze. 

“There it is,” Valena says, pointing out a cave. Karzan tenses at the sight of it, but thankfully its entrance is relatively wide; big enough for light to reach inside. He follows Valena as she heads for the cave, standing in front of the entrance and peering inside.

She looks at Karzan standing next to her, just out of sight. “I see T’veze, and uh… well…” 

Karzan frowns beneath his mask, and steps forward to join her, peering into the dimly-lit cave.

He freezes when he sees who else is inside.

These past two months have been an exercise in mental discipline. Karzan has done his best to purge his mind of its fixation, shrinking it until it could be comfortably repressed, but seeing Faust standing there is like having the lid he painstakingly placed over it blown right off again. The flood of fantasies he’s had about Faust in the past few months come rushing back to the surface of his memory, leaving him back at square one.

Frustration simmers inside of him and he grits his teeth; no one should have this much power over Karzan, least of all Faust. Karzan is an adult man, for heaven’s sake, it should be unthinkable that anyone would have such an effect on him. He needs to focus on the mission, and block everything else out.

As Valena heads into the cave, he steels himself and follows, determined not to let his composure slip.

“Hello there!” Valena greets cheerily while Karzan follows like a silent shadow behind her. “You ordered a rescue mission, extra large?” 

The asari, Sadaha T’veze, looks befuddled by Valena—not what she imagined an Immortal to act like, no doubt—but when she looks at Karzan her eyes widen in realization. 

Karzan, meanwhile, is steadfast in not looking right at Faust even while being painfully aware of his presence. Though, considering they’re both here, evidently T’veze reached out to both of them. If she’s interested in hiring the two of them, they’ll have no choice but to coordinate a plan of attack. Which… is fine. He’s a professional, after all. 

“Hi, fancy seeing you here!” Valena offers to Faust and his crewmate, saving Karzan from having to acknowledge them directly, before she turns to T’veze. “Valena Veris, at your service! This is—”

“Captain Nasri?” T’veze finishes for her, looking up at Karzan with a mixture of surprise and nervousness. He can’t blame her; the mask tends to leave an impression, both on friend and foe. 

Karzan wordlessly inclines his head in affirmation.

“Don’t mind the bossman, here, he has poor people skills,” Valena says, and though it’s an insult, T’veze cracks a smile, so Karzan lets it slide. “I’m here to translate: we’re here to help.”

—

Javier takes deep breaths through his nose and out of his mouth, the way he was taught to steady and center himself during his time in the Alliance. Usually he would have no need of the exercise—he often opted to just let his emotions burn out of him through some sort of physical activity—but he knows he can’t just let his biotics flare up or punch something to release some of his restless energy in front of a clearly unsettled Sadaha.

He knows the base mechanics of asari mind melding; he can’t imagine having had access to his partner’s whole consciousness and then for them to be ripped away from him. Asari tend to be rather pragmatic about losing their partners due to their long lifespan, but the difference between preparing for a natural death due to age and having to conceive that their time together will be further cut short because of capitalist violence is nothing short of heartbreaking.

Thankfully Nyitea seems to realize she needs to take it from here and steps up to talk to Sadaha, switching from the trade language to High Thessian. He tunes them out and takes a few steps away from them to give the asari a semblance of privacy. 

He can’t help but feel a little affronted that he might have to… _collaborate_ with Nasri. He knows that he and the Maharlika could get the job done. And from what he’s seen of the other captain, he’s not really what one would call a “team player” outside of his own crew. Would Nasri’s pride gatekeep him and the Maharlika from this mission? He has a unique way of leaving Javier feeling flat-footed and aggravated as a result; he already knows that that won’t go over well at all and cause more hissing.

Resignedly, at the end of the day, Javier knows he’ll swallow whatever hits he has to take to his own pride in order to get the end result he wants: undermining EAE and dealing a blow to the heinous shit they’ve been getting away with because everyone else is too busy with post-war efforts to pay that much attention. It’s not like he needs the _credit_ for the job, but now that it’s sitting right in front of him, he knows he’ll be restless and pacing until he can see for himself that it’s done.

The less immediately reactive part of his awareness recognizes that he can’t necessarily blame Sadaha for putting him in this position. The Immortals’ reputation for these sorts of jobs certainly precedes them. The fact that the Maharlika are now being actively approached more frequently for missions like this means that more people trust them now too. He tries to focus on that bright side—better to have to work with Nasri than not be thought of at all.

Inhale. _‘I’m a motherfucking professional.’_

Exhale. _‘Success of the mission matters more than my own feelings.’_

Inhale. _‘I’m also_ **_not_ ** _going to think about fucking Nasri at all.’_

Exhale. _‘God, all those things are so much easier said than done or believed.’_

A few minutes later, a cheerful voice breaks the relative quiet in the cave. Javier’s head swivels towards the entrance, and sure enough there’s a female turian striding in, followed by Nasri himself. He lets another cycle of inhales and exhales filter through him before he imagines clicking into his identity as Faust. He steps up close to the asari, who’ve stopped their murmuring.

Nasri lets his crewmate lead the introductions and Javier keeps his gaze firmly on either Valena or Sadaha. Valena’s light energy is a little infectious and he can feel his muscles release a bit of their tension: down from a bristling cat to one watching warily with a swishing tail. He nods his chin at Valena and smirks when she acknowledges him. His smirk grows even more when she takes a jab at her own captain. He’s not been able to witness the Immortals like this, and at least a little bit of his uneasiness dissipates just by virtue of Valena’s energy and earnestness. 

“Thank you all so much,” Sadaha’s voice breaks a little despite the hopeful smile on her face. “Captain Faust, you’ve met Captain Nasri?”

Javier tries to keep his face blank, though his eyes flash with that same mixture of combativeness and heat that seems to live within his presence whenever he thinks about or is around the other man. He crosses his arms and readjusts his stance as he gives Nasri a slow side eye, taking in his mask and the sheen of his jet black armor. 

_‘Don’t think about what’s under all that, don’t think about what’s under all that—’_

One of his more recent fantasies—of Nasri sweaty and panting under him, squeezing around his cock while Javi takes Nasri in his hand and overwhelms his senses—flashes bright behind his eyes. 

_‘Fuckfuckfuck.'_

Javier darts his gaze back to Sadaha, wiping his thoughts clean. 

“We’ve met,” his voice comes out a little deeper and gravellier than he’d meant it, but at this point he’s just thankful no one has access to his traitorous mind. After a beat, Javier clears his throat. “Sadaha, you were about to tell us what you know about the compound?”

“Oh—right,” Sadaha looks a little oddly between the two men before launching into an explanation.

Sadaha explains what she knows about EAE’s infrastructure on the island. Apparently, she was able to get close enough on her shuttle to be able to faintly tap into the mental connection between her and her wife. She outlines the memories her wife pushed to the forefront: the path the victims took from the loading dock and hangar bay further into the compound where they were being held, how they were being grouped, the density of the guards inside.

She goes on to talk about EAE’s practices with their trafficking victims. It seems that some of the guards at this compound were previously victims of the same circumstance; brainwashed and broken so thoroughly so as to be leveraged as another psychological attack on the newest group of so-called “recruits.” 

Sadaha starts to shudder and choke up a little as she tells the people gathered about this. Javier can’t help but extend a large hand and stroke her shoulder, his face twisting in a frown that’s equal parts fury, determination, and empathy. Sadaha curls into the contact and pushes through, emptying her mind of the details and finally being able to share the burden of figuring out what to do with them.

“They’ll only be at the compound for another twenty four hours,” Sadaha warns. 

“We should consider making our move when they start to file them into the ships then. They’ll be the most exposed at that point and we’ll be able to maximize our time to prepare,” Nyitea suggests. 

“That’s true,” Javier admits. He sees where Nyitea is going with this. And it speaks to her experience as an ambassador’s daughter: assassinations frequently occurred when switching from one mode of transportation to another. 

“But it might not matter if we can’t talk to them beforehand,” Javier posits. “Who knows at what stage of being manipulated the victims are in. I doubt we’ll be able to get them all to agree to leave peacefully if we just swoop in and grab them out of nowhere.”

“It didn’t look good from what I saw,” Sadaha admits grimly. “Even my wife is starting to lose some of her grip on herself. It’s only been a few weeks. I wish I’d found her sooner, but they kept moving and were so hard to track down...”

“Sadaha, don’t beat yourself up over that,” Javier cautions her gently. “You’ve given them a chance, which is more than what they had before today.”

She nods at him, a little resigned. He knows that it’ll be hard to rip her out of that self-flagellating mood until her wife is back in her arms. Javier can’t exactly blame her. It’ll be up to them to really get this moving—Sadaha seems to be tapped out after reliving what she learned.

He makes eye contact with Nyitea and she steps to his side. _‘Success of the mission matters more than my own feelings,’_ he repeats internally.

“Nasri, Veris. A word?”

He takes a few steps away from Sadaha to huddle with the others. Nyitea, with her shady ass, positions herself so that he and Nasri have to be shoulder to shoulder. It feels like he can feel the heat emanating from the man, though he knows that to just be an effect of his extremely active imagination. Javier sends Nyitea a quick glare before addressing the rest of the group.

“So, what do we think?” Javi’s tone is inquisitive yet focused. It’s clear he actually wants to hear what everyone thinks but is simultaneously mindful of the very real constraints they’re under. “Twenty four hours—we have to move fast and don’t have much of a window for mistakes.”

—

For all that he was determined not to look at Faust and let himself be distracted, Karzan finds himself doing exactly that when T’veze asks whether they’ve met each other before. Noveria, Benning and Omega flash through his mind in quick succession, each introducing some new feeling—frustration, doubt, intrigue, hunger—that swirls in his gut like a poorly mixed cocktail. 

Faust answers for the both of them, his voice lowered like it was in Afterlife and that is not a good direction for his thoughts to take when he’s in the middle of a mission. In this respect, acknowledging his desire seems to have solved absolutely nothing; if anything, it has made it worse. 

T’veze even seems to notice something off about it—she has likely lived long enough to recognize unresolved tension when she sees it—which is embarrassing all on its own. Karzan has never had to deal with a distraction on this magnitude while on a mission before, especially not one that affects him to this extent. 

Thankfully, T’veze continues on to explain all that she knows about EAE, both about their business practices as well as more practical information such as the infrastructure of its facilities on the island. It allows Karzan to take a silent breath and refocus his attention on where it should be: the people that need his help, and the corporation that needs to be destroyed.

While T’veze talks about how EAE traps people and indoctrinates them to the point of untold psychological scarring, her emotions break through in her voice as she trembles. 

Usually, Valena would be the one to offer comfort in situations like these, as Karzan himself is ill-suited for the task. This time, however, Faust acts first; Karzan watches as he places a hand on T’veze’s shoulder, rubbing it in comforting motions. Faust’s face is like an open book, not hiding any of the compassion and anger playing out in his expression, reflected in his eyes as he looks at T’veze.

It makes Karzan wonder about the initial doubts and distrust he harbored about Faust. The man he sees in front of him now seems honest to his core, wearing his heart on his sleeve, and utterly incapable of manipulating others for his own benefit. 

Seems, Karzan reminds himself with a frown. He has to be careful not to let his… other feelings concerning Faust cloud his judgment. While the possibility that he may be sincere exists, Karzan can’t rule out that he’s simply playing a part to gain T’veze’s trust.

Karzan would know all about playing parts.

He’ll have to keep a close eye on what Faust does after this mission, particularly how he decides to handle the refugees. If Karzan catches even a hint of opportunistic recruitment tactics, he won’t hesitate to respond accordingly. His recent uncertainty on the matter of Faust may have made him soft; he needs to keep his guard up.

Once T’veze has finished her explanation, cautioning them that they’ll only have 24 hours to complete this rescue mission, Faust takes the lead and calls him and Valena over to discuss the meeting. 

Karzan ends up standing next to him—because of course—which certainly doesn’t help him concentrate. At the very least he’s grateful they’re both wearing armor so that he doesn’t feel it when they brush shoulders, but the proximity feels far too close for comfort even so.

“So, what do we think?” Faust asks, snapping Karzan’s thoughts back to the issue at hand. “Twenty-four hours—we have to move fast and don’t have much of a window for mistakes.”

Valena looks at Karzan, waiting for him to speak first seeing as she’s not much of a planner herself. After a moment of thought, Karzan does.

“The timeframe won’t be an issue so long as our preparation is sound,” Karzan considers, as he has had to work larger missions with less time and less intel than this; he’s rather thankful to get his mind working on something other than Faust, at the very least. “Getting into the facility is the most crucial part; the architecture is simplistic, which makes things easier. Security is the real issue. The whole place is crawling with guards.” 

“But it’s doable, right?” Valena says, as always impatient for cut-and-dry answers. “We could pull it off?” 

Karzan tilts his mask toward her, hoping she knows he’s frowning at her. “You realize we’re talking about smuggling a group of 17 people out of the facility without getting noticed and turning it into a full blown shoot-out?” 

Valena sighs. “Yes, dad- I mean, captain.”

He rolls his eyes and redirects his attention back on Faust and his crewmate. “One of my crew has been keeping an eye on guard rotations around the island. Another is looking into floor plans for the building; it may be useful in case they moved the victims since T’veze connected with her wife. I’ll be able to give you an update on that in a few hours from now. We can formulate a plan once we have all the available information.” 

While Karzan can’t quite say that he enjoys preparing and plotting for every possible outcome, it’s a skill he has spent a long time on cultivating, and he enjoys seeing it pay off. Nothing is more satisfying than a smoothly-run mission that ends in success with his enemies none the wiser. This mission, though, is about something more important than ego: if he can get these people out of there and back safely with their families, that’ll be enough for him.

—

The two teams separate after discussing next steps. Javier’s still wary about being kept out of the loop. If it’s hard to read Nasri in a “normal” setting, it’s almost impossible to read him when he has his mask and armor on. Even his voice betrays nothing, cloaked as it is in different pitches and tones. Is Nasri just buying himself a few hours’ worth of a head start or is he being truthful about needing time for recon? 

He bats that anxiety away. There was no indication of that when they were in the cave or when they split up in their separate shuttles. He figures that even if he can’t trust in Nasri’s opinion or feelings about him, he can trust his motives. The mission is an undoubtedly complex one; anything to increase the chances of success should be leveraged, even if it means putting aside their differences for a day or two.

 _‘Here’s to taking more bets, I guess,’_ Javier ponders aboard the shuttle. Sadaha is with them; he’s offered her a bunk and some food on the Kasama while the crews sort out the mission. He and Nasri would take it from here, he’d reassured her. Hopefully she would take the opportunity to get some rest. 

The shuttle ride back to the ship is a quiet one. The weight of the mission before them starts to settle on their shoulders and Javier turns his eyes to the choppy waters, mind whirring and body tense. 

**ABOARD THE KASAMA — JUNE 13, 2188 — 11:02**

Once they reboard the ship, he asks Saritia and Nyitea to help Sadaha settle in. Then he announces an all hands meeting in the war room in fifteen minutes. After that, his first stop is to the kitchen to scarf something down really quickly. He’s not sure yet on the timeline for this mission, but he’ll need to make sure that his body has the energy to burn.

He arrives in the war room after Caelus and Irdan and finds the latter talking about how Trident is ninety five percent water and its apparently fascinating marine life. The rest of the crew file in shortly after, with Nyitea and Saritia taking up the rear.

Once everyone is settled, Javier outlines what he and Nyitea learned from Sadaha. He doesn’t spare them the heartbreaking details nor the heinous atrocities. He knows that that’ll only serve to light a fire under everyone’s ass. The stakes are high and they all need to be sharp because people are depending on them.

Javier intentionally saves the surprise for last. Several of his crew members raise their eyebrows and send looks to each other when they hear about the Immortals’ involvement in this mission and how the captains seemed to have agreed to work with each other. 

“Do you trust him?” Caelus asks after a few beats.

“I don’t know yet. But I think I want to?” Javier answers honestly.

“You know, there’s still time to fuck him before the mission. Clear all of that up,” Javier throws Caelus an incredulous look despite the fact that it’s already crossed his mind more than once today. He can’t help but feel like there might be some truth to what Caelus is saying—Nasri had barely looked directly at him and suddenly there was a porno flashing in the back of his eyeballs. What the fuck _is_ it about Nasri that throws him off so badly?

“Fucking turians,” Javier volleys back by way of acknowledging his first mate. He’ll unpack (or rather, repack) all that _after_ this mission.

“I would say fucking humans, but it clearly doesn’t apply in this situation,” Caelus deadpans. 

“ _Please_ don’t say any of this shit around Nasri.”

“Yes, captain.” There’s a hint of a smirk on Caelus’ countenance.

“Anyway—” Javier redirects his attention to the rest of the crew, who are all displaying varying levels of knowing or snickering on their faces. He ignores them and presses on. “The Immortals are currently doing recon on guard rotations and floor plans. Then we’ll reconvene in here via vidcall in a few hours. I don’t just want us to just be sitting on our hands waiting for them to call though.”

“Agreed,” Caelus responds as he types in his notes on his datapad, now all business. “I can look into the security tech they’ll likely have in place. I’d been holding off since I didn’t want to waste the resources in case it was a trap.”

“I can help with that. I’m probably familiar with the arms they use,” Irdan volunteers in his fast clip of a voice.

“Nyitea and I will start preparing the medical bay for the survivors,” Dr. Olaniyi chips in. 

Saritia speaks up next. She’s looked more and more perturbed the more Javier uncovered regarding EAE, no doubt keeping Sadaha in the forefront of her mind and inadvertently relating her relationship with Dr. Olaniyi to the situation. “Aviria, I’d appreciate an extra set of eyes while I explore the map for possible escape routes from the facility.”

“Sure, of course!” Aviria seems to perk up at the thought of learning more under Saritia’s guidance.

Javier nods as the war room buzzes, feeling pride in his crew for being so ready to step up to the plate. He tells them so and he’s met with bravado and whooping, like athletes hyping each other up in the locker room before a big game. 

Once the war room meeting is over, everyone disperses. In the spirit of collaboration, Javier sends off a message to Nasri to update him on how the Maharlika plan on spending the next few hours before they reconvene. They’d exchanged contact information (another point for Nasri in the “he’s probably not going to keep me in the dark” column) before splitting up on Trident. Faintly, he recognizes that this is the first message one of them has ever sent the other.

—

Most of the Immortals receive their apparent partnership with the Maharlika with mild surprise, though the news has a subtle effect on the crewmembers who have been with him the longest. The ones who have lived through as much as Karzan has, and who are still here to remember it. 

Nura shoots him a look from across the meeting room as Karzan recounts what happened on Trident, and the worry in her eyes is too painful to look at. 

Karzan isn’t in the right state of mind to deal with so much of what’s swirling around in his head, none of which he can explore because there are more important things going on. To have memories resurfacing which he thought he buried years ago is too much for him to handle without losing focus on the mission.

So when Nura pulls him aside after the meeting, Karzan is determined to dodge her concern, until she says, “Are you sure you’re ready for something like this?” 

Karzan clenches his jaw, averting his gaze and staying silent. They both know what she’s referring to, but he really wishes she wouldn’t have brought that up. Not right now, when he’s already hanging on by a thread.

“It’s only…” Nura sighs. “Karzan, the last time we worked together with another crew—”

“I know what happened last time, I was there,” he snaps despite himself, composure cracking momentarily, but Nura doesn’t look at all taken aback by his outburst. The sympathetic look she gives him makes him embarrassed about how easily he lost his cool, and he quickly reins in his emotions, taking a deep breath. “It’s the only way to make sure we save those refugees.”

Sometimes, the past has a way of feeling like a ball and chain attached to his feet, trying to keep him from moving forward. All those unresolved issues, rooted as deeply as they are, constantly come up in every assessment he makes of Faust in particular; Karzan can even admit to himself that it’s unfair to some extent, but he doesn’t owe Faust anything. What’s most important is not only protecting himself, but even more so, protecting his crew.

Nura looks like she wants to say something more, at which point Valena wanders back into the room, though she pauses when she sees the expressions on Nura and Karzan’s faces.

“Uh… am I interrupting something?” She glances between the two of them, and Nura minutely shakes her head, indicating not to ask. Valena—as well as her brother, Desius—are the two other crewmates who were there when it happened. Much like Karzan, though, they prefer not to bring it up.

“Did you need something?” Karzan says, slipping his mask back on as he searches for his usual calm, though he has trouble finding it. At this point it’s a paper-thin sheet on the surface of a stormy ocean, barely able to contain it. 

“Oh, I’m just here for Nura,” Valena says, recovering from the slightly awkward atmosphere as she moves to Nura’s side, winding an arm around her waist. 

Nura’s lips break out into a smile as she reaches up on the tips of her toes and presses a kiss to one of Valena’s mandibles. “Miss me already?” 

“Of course!” 

She laughs. “You were only gone for a few hours!” 

“A few hours too long,” Valena replies smoothly, and Karzan finds himself staring at the two of them, paying attention to their interactions in a way he never bothered to do before. It’s just so plain to see how much they love each other, and for maybe the first time in his life, Karzan finds himself wondering what it’s like.

He shakes the thought off as soon as it arises, but unfortunately, Valena has already caught him staring and gives him a sly look. “So, you’re going to work together with Faust, captain?” 

The mention of Faust puts Karzan on edge. “What’s your point?” 

“No point,” Valena replies innocently, but when he exchanges looks with Nura, Karzan just knows the two of them have talked about this before. “You know, just wondering—”

“There’s nothing to wonder.” 

“Wow, defensive,” Valena says, arching the plates of her brows, and Karzan knows he protested too much.

“He does seem pretty cute,” Nura says, undeterred by Karzan’s glare. “For a human.” 

“You should’ve seen the two of them back on Trident.” Valena shoots Karzan a knowing look, before continuing to Nura, “They were soooo tense, I swear neither of them wanted to even look at each other the entire time we were there.”

Karzan turns around and walks away.

“Captain, where are you going?” Valena calls after him, laughter in her voice that follows him out to the hallway. “Aw, don’t be like that, I was just teasing!” 

If even Valena has noticed it, things really are getting out of hand. Karzan needs to get his shit together; there are only a few hours left until he gets the updates from his crew and will have to pass it along to Faust. 

But he can handle one measly vid call, right?

**KASAMA WAR ROOM — JUNE 13, 2188 — 15:22**

Javier’s had another meal, another snack, caught up with all of his crew members’ progress, and done a little more digging into EAE by the time his datapad alerts him to Nasri’s call. He pings everyone else to file into the war room and heads back in there himself before answering the call. “This is Faust.”

A head to toe image of Nasri springs up, now uncovered by his mask. Even when pixelated, Nasri’s piercing stare and the mysterious air that surrounds him makes Javier want to commit his face to memory, to see what it would look like twisted up in laughter or pressed into his pillows. The sound of more and more footsteps around him rips him out of that particular train of thought.

Javier clears his throat. “Nasri, meet the Maharlika.”

He lets everyone take turns around the table, introducing themselves with their names and their roles. Though all the crew members are professional enough, several of them make their introductions with knowing looks and smirks.

“I’ll let everyone give their task updates in a bit but I just wanted to start high level—I’m sure I’m not the only one thinking about how we crush these motherfuckers for good,” Javier looks down at his datapad to scroll through his notes. 

“I did some more digging on EAE and apparently a lot of their helium-3 facilities were destroyed in the war. They’ve struggling to stay out of the red since then with such a low supply; that’s why they’re focusing on ‘recruiting’ right now—to cut down even further on labor costs. I know the priority is to get the victims out, but I was thinking that if we’re also able to steal the coordinates of their helium-3 facilities, we could start to unravel EAE completely.”

—

God, the awful bright orange of Faust’s suit filters even through the blue light of his image. 

Karzan spent the past few hours throwing himself at the mission, gathering intel from his crew, practically doing anything and everything possible to keep focused. He went into the vid call relatively calm, all things considered, and actually felt confident about being able to handle this like the grown man he is. 

That same confidence is wavering now that he realizes Faust is dressed in little else but his skinsuit. 

He does everything in his power not to glance down at the way it hugs the contours of his body, emphasizing his muscular build—damn, those thighs—but he is still very aware of it in his peripheral vision. Even while Faust greets him and introduces his crew to him, Karzan can’t quite keep his attention on it until they finally (thankfully) switch gears to focus on the mission.

Unexpectedly, Faust mentions EAE’s helium-3 facilities. It was a fact that had come across his desk as well, though Karzan had filed it away to study at a later date. From the way Faust speaks of it, however, the implication is that their crews will be working together beyond this point, when Karzan doesn’t remember agreeing to anything like that while discussing the mission on Trident.

Considering Faust’s crew is present for the vid call, however, Karzan keeps those thoughts to himself; he’ll bring it up later to Faust when they have a moment of privacy. As blunt as Karzan is, even he wouldn’t contradict a captain in front of their own crew and undermine them in that way. Besides which, doing so would be sure to aggravate Faust, and with the mission ahead of them they need to be able to work together as smoothly as possible.

“Taking on jobs you haven’t been hired for yet, Faust?” Doesn’t mean he can’t taunt him at least a little bit, though this time there’s nothing malicious behind it. If anything, it reminds him somewhat of himself when he was just starting out, eager to rush into any mission he could get his hands on. “I know the facilities you’re talking about; we can compare notes, after the refugees have been taken care of.” 

It’s not a partnership, Karzan tells himself. They’ll just be swapping intel. It’s not as if he’s agreeing to work together in the future—though it certainly seems like it. 

“Speaking of which.” Karzan activates the file on his omnitool Sarak sent him a while ago to share over the vid call. Beside him a full holographic map of the entire island blinks into existence, including the facility, as well as red lines that indicate guard rotations. Karzan has no idea how the batarian does it, but he’s lucky to have both him and Kalot on his team; the duo make for excellent engineers. “This is what we have on the lay-out and guard rotations on the island so far. The latter extend much further than anticipated; there is a new shift every three hours.”

—

“Didn’t realize I needed to be hired to do the right thing,” Javier can’t help but throw Nasri’s taunt back at him. Though his intuition hadn’t detected any actual judgment in it, it’s hard to let go of the urge to go toe to toe with him at every opportunity. 

He smooths it out with a low, appreciative whistle—just to make sure Nasri doesn’t take his banter sideways, he never seems to know with this man—when he presents a projection of the facility. He’s impressed with what they were able to do. He and Caelus meet each other’s eyes for a second to non-verbally acknowledge that they were glad they took advantage of the break too.

Sometime between now and the time the Maharlika debriefed, Javier had decided that he wanted to start diluting the often aggressive energy between the two of them. It’s an ironic thing to consider, given that he’s punched Nasri before, but his meditations about the mission being more important than his feelings are relevant not just to his current goals but his long term ones.

Like it or not, having Nasri as an ally is turning out to be something he might need. Noveria, Benning, now Trident… how much easier would things be if they walked into situations already being able to rely on each other? 

Building some sort of trust between the two of them is an inevitable uphill battle, he already knows. One that he’ll likely have to initiate. People don’t get as hard and jaded as Nasri is without being burned and learning from the experience. The man is a Classic statue: unyielding, meticulously detailed, almost hauntingly beautiful. How many careful, curious taps would it take, he wonders, to break open the first layer of the marble Nasri cocoons himself in and reach his true insides?

What would he find?

He pulls himself out of that avenue of thinking, already feeling carried away. Javier blinks and refocuses on blueprints hovering in the air. When it’s presented this clinically it almost seems easy enough, but he’s sure that EAE has an endless amount of tricks up their sleeve. Caelus breaks the thoughtful silence and points to one of the red lines.

“This route right here; if we intercept this air patrol and hijack the shuttle towards the beginning of their shift, we’ll buy ourselves time to make our entrance into the facility.” 

“We need to time it when none of the other guards are switching shifts in the hangar bay to get in that way,” Irdan adds.

Javier can see the route that Sadaha described to them in the cave on the map. It’s surprisingly uncomplicated. _‘Probably because they shuffle so many people in and out so frequently,’_ he considers with disgust.

“Let’s confirm whether or not the victims’ location has changed since Sadaha got her intel before we make our move too,” Javier notes with a focused look at the map before glancing up at Nasri’s image. “Thanks for putting all this together.”

They iron out the details of their approach and map out routes and back up plans given what they know. Caelus debriefs everyone on the security and surveillance systems in place and points out the likely locations on the map where they can be hacked from. Once they get to the exit strategy, Saritia chimes in, adding what they now know about the patrol routes thanks to the Immortals with the geographic research she and Aviria did.

“There’s a small rock cove a few klicks away from the facility. It’s a privately owned vacation home and is currently unoccupied from what I can tell. The two ships can cloak within the inlet and be on standby for our escape.”

Dr. Olaniyi gives updates on their preparations in the med bay; the Kasama has the room and supplies to treat up to five of the most immediately injured. 

A familiar sense of pride swells up in Javier that helps him wash away some of his earlier jitters, especially in front of this audience. Earlier, the stakes and the pressure of the mission weighed him down. Now he can start to feel some of his usual anticipation before he goes into a battle. It’s funny what a few hours of preparation could do. 

“What do you think, Nasri?” Javier directs at the other captain. “Any big gaps we need to address?” 

—

Faust’s returning jab is a glancing blow, one that may have rankled him before, but now seems almost innocuous in comparison to the way they spat venom at each other in the past. One would think that to be a good thing; civil banter is a sign of progression in their relationship, which is perhaps exactly why it makes Karzan so uneasy. 

The rivalry up to this point had a certain hostility to it that added to the tension, so perhaps mellowing that out will help ease this friction between them, but then what? Becoming friends, partners-in-crime? Karzan has absolutely no intention of getting closer to Faust than he absolutely has to; that way lies inevitable disappointment. 

He pushes down his thoughts to keep a critical eye on the proceedings, paying undivided attention to all that the Maharlika have uncovered and prepared. It’s partly due to ingrained caution and partly due to perfectionistic tendencies; any mission that he is a part of must run as flawlessly as possible. 

Faust’s first mate reaches the same conclusion in regards to the guard rotation Karzan himself had come to when he had first looked at the map, which is a point in the Maharlika’s favor. 

Then, Faust actually catches him off guard by stating they should first confirm the victims’ location before making a move. Karzan hadn’t been entirely sure whether Faust had been paying attention back in the cave when Karzan mentioned the victims may have been moved, seeing as how impulsive Faust has been so far. He’s pleasantly surprised that his words haven’t fallen on deaf ears. 

The rest of the meeting proceeds similar to how Karzan might plan a mission with his own crew. He provides minimal input during it, only speaking to nudge the discussion in the right direction whenever necessary, which isn’t that often; Faust appears to be doing a more than adequate job figuring things out with his crew.

When Faust asks for his thoughts by the end of it, Karzan almost finds himself smiling. 

“You covered all the bases,” he replies, the closest to outright approval he’s going to get. “Unfortunately, there are always things you can’t prepare for. I’ll meet you planet-side in an hour; don’t skimp on bringing extra ammo.”

When he disconnects the vid call, he finds Alemu’s tall figure leaning against the doorway of the comm room behind him, giving him a curious look.

“Was that just a compliment out of your mouth, captain?” Alemu comments incredulously while Karzan sighs and moves toward the doorway, pushing him out the way with a hand on his shoulder as he continues into the hallway. Alemu follows him. “This Faust guy must be something, huh?” 

“Did you hear the plan back there?” Karzan replies dryly, ignoring his attempts at prodding. 

“Yes, sir, memorized every word!” Alemu walks beside him, staring at him while Karzan pointedly ignores looking at him. “So—”

Karzan interrupts before he can even begin to tease him; Nura and Valena are bad enough on that front. “Suit up, Kedir.”

Alemu sighs, slinking off toward the crew’s quarters. “I swear, you’re no fun sometimes.”

Karzan ignores him, mind replaying the vid call in his head, and looking back on it in hindsight, he almost winces at how easily taken in he was by the barest display of competence. It has just been so long since he had anyone he could trust at his back… 

He knows from experience the cost that can carry, and he’s not sure he’s willing to pay it.


	6. TRIDENT II

**TRIDENT — JUNE 13, 2188 CE – 16:34**

The shuttle ride to the rendezvous point passes by in silence. While Alemu has a friendly disposition by nature, he—much like Karzan—prefers to focus right before a mission. Similarly, Nico doesn’t have their music on this time. Whatever Karzan’s inner turmoil, this mission deserves their full attention.

The sun is already setting on the horizon of Trident’s deep blue sea, and Karzan estimates that by the time they reach the actual facility, it’ll be dark out. They have a deadline to keep in order to make it before the next guard rotation, however; they have to take out the control center that surveilles the facility as well as the island as quickly as possible. From its camera footage they ought to be able to check where the victims are being kept as well. 

“We’ve arrived, captain,” Nico announces, using the cover of a nearby rock formation to hide the shuttle as they land it. The control station, just a few hundred feet away, is surrounded by such large rocks, the tower like a gigantic beacon overlooking the entire island while enjoying the cover of Trident’s natural terrain. It’s like a labyrinth, and would’ve been impossible to navigate had they not had a map of the place.

Guards will be patrolling these areas as well, but at least with all the rocks around they’ll have the cover necessary to take them out one by one as they make their way to the control center.

Karzan is somewhat annoyed that the terrain makes it difficult to use his sniper rifle, but the advantage of being able to sneak up on his enemies is not an insignificant one; with his Tactical Cloak, he’ll practically be a ghost.

Both he and Alemu are wearing their helmets as they step out of the shuttle, guns in hand, and just as Karzan wonders how long he’ll have to wait on Faust, he spots the Maharlika’s shuttle coming up behind them, not two minutes later. 

It’ll be the first time Karzan and Faust will be working together on the battlefield; despite his own reservations, he can’t help but be curious whether their individual fighting styles will mesh well.

—

His second shuttle ride to Trident that day is similar to his first one; though this time it’s Hiroto with him. Javier’s got his music playing on a low level as he appreciates the ocean views at sunset. The endless water reflects the sky so seamlessly that there doesn’t seem to be a horizon, just a palette of oil paints in shades of blue, orange, and pink. 

The plan they’d formed just an hour ago runs through his head. Despite how quickly this day has moved, he feels prepared. They’ve done all they can in this stage of the mission. Now it’s time to act. 

Thinking of the plan inevitably has him analyzing how the vid call had gone. Just like the horizon it was seamless, which he thinks is a positive step forward. It seems the months since their last encounter have helped soothe their animosity, and both their crews are just too good at their jobs to not pull their weight. There’s nothing like a shared goal and motivation to make people suck up their pride.

“Two minutes, team,” Aviria’s voice breaks through his reflections.

Javier meets Hiroto’s eyes and shoots him a confident smile. “You ready for this?”

“I’ve been waiting all day for this. Captain Nasri convinced me to test out my latest armor-piercing ammo,” Hiroto returns his look, standing to strap his guns to his back. 

“Is that a new project for you and Irdan? Looking forward to seeing it in action,” Javier rolls his neck out and shakes out his arms. Planning and strategizing and all that certainly has its place in the process, but  _ this _ is where he feels most comfortable. He’s been keeping a lid on his anger at the situation all day and very much looks forward to breaking some bones. He’ll probably have to keep the theatrics to a minimum though; too much flashiness will attract attention. Normally he’d say bring it on, but failing to move the victims out safely is absolutely  _ not _ an option. 

When they arrive at the rendezvous point, Nasri and his man are already there. He lags behind Hiroto for a beat to step up to Aviria, extending his fist to initiate their pre-mission good luck handshake. It’s a complex, fast-clipped sequence made even more impressive by the fact that they’ve adapted it to the difference in the shapes of their hands.

“Good luck, Faust. Have fun,” Aviria spreads her mandibles wide in sly amusement as her eyes slide over to the Immortals.

“You know I always do,” he pulls away with a wink before clicking his helmet into place.

He catches up to the rest of the ground squad, extending a hand to Nasri’s second by way of introduction. Javier nods at Nasri before panning his gaze over their surroundings, taking in the uneven, jagged rocks, the sound of water crashing echoing around them, and their destination sitting above them.

The group wordlessly clicks into work mode and starts to move, taking as much advantage of the rocks for cover as possible. They pick off the guards one by one, alternating between silenced headshots and the satisfying thrum of biotics throwing enemies off the cliffs. Not as satisfying as dashing in with Nova or swinging his axe, but since the team wants to be sneaky then he might as well play ball if he wants to get some hits in.

They make it to the control station without much fuss. There are two guards inside. Javi reaches back for the hilt of his axe and throws it at the chest of the nearest one, trusting that one of the squadmates behind him will take care of the other. He steps further inside the station, checking to make sure the coast is clear and picking his axe up and out of the guard on the way.

“All clear.” He checks the time on his omni-tool; they’re pacing well. So far, so good. 

He lets the tech geniuses figure out how to find the hostages and disable the security and surveillance systems as he looks around the station for anything useful. There are a couple of data pads strewn around and he skims through the files, his eyebrows raising. In the datapad are schedules for the guards, as well as incriminating messages back and forth about the treatment of employees and the victims. 

_ ‘Don’t mind if I make some copies of that,’ _ he’ll sift through all that information later when he has the time. 

“Captain, we’ve found the victims,” Javier steps over to join the rest of the group, who are looking at a screen displaying multiple camera angles.

“Looks like they’re still in the same place Sadaha described,” Hiroto confirms.

As soon as he says it, their omni tools all beep. Ten minute warning for the shuttle switch out. 

“Let’s shut this shit down and get rolling.”

Hiroto nods, already at work. After a whir of typing followed by a few emphatic clicks, Hiroto steps away from the console. “I just shut off the surveillance and security and downloaded the files I could. Sending to your omni-tools now.”

“Thanks Hiroto,” Javier peers out of the small window on the door to check for any unwelcome newcomers. When the coast is clear he gives the signal to file out. 

They follow the path they had traced on the map from the control station to where the shuttle docks. Javier takes the rear of the group to make sure they aren’t ambushed from behind. It admittedly serves the double purpose of observing Nasri in action. 

As expected, the man is crisp, methodical, and efficient. He almost disappears against the surroundings, the only evidence that he was ever there at all the smoke of his gun and the bullets he leaves behind. Javier can tell that Nasri has a perceptive awareness that only the best gunmen possess. They just have such a honed instinct to track movement that there’s no lag between one deadly shot and the next. Annoyingly, this newly learned tidbit just adds to the growing list of things that he finds alluring about Nasri. Ugh.

Javier picks up the stragglers that the rest of the group misses and finally they’re at the landing pad. They take cover out of sight and wait less than two minutes before the sound of thrusters becomes audible over the ocean waves. 

Once the guards all step out of the shuttle, Javier flares blue and charges at the group, axe in hand. He knocks them back, weakening their shields, and sends the nearest one flying off the edge of the cliff. There’s no one around now; he can ditch the stealthy shit for a few minutes so he lets out a belly laugh when the guards do the obvious thing and direct all their attention at him. They don’t even realize that they’re sitting ducks for the rest of the squad. Idiots.

He sprints over to one of them, who’s still in the middle of straightening up. He kicks at their knee— _ hard _ —to destabilize them again before bringing his axe down to the place where their head and shoulder connect. The guard falls to their knees, quickly collapsing from the pain of dropping their weight on a fucked up kneecap and the wound bleeding out on their neck.

His blood is pumping and he moves around the battlefield, supporting wherever he’s needed though the squad finishes up the rest of the skirmish efficiently. They hide the bodies to slow down anyone that might be on their trail before boarding the shuttle. Javier sits down, taking advantage of the brief respite to catch his breath as they venture further into the belly of the beast.

—

For the entirety of the mission so far Karzan makes use of his pistol, equipped with a silencer mod, and nothing else. He chooses his shots with care, firing only when point blank range is possible. When it’s not, snapping necks with a quick motion of his arms is equally effective, dispatching the guards with ease. 

It’s clear to Karzan from the way they react—or even their lack of a reaction—that some of them aren’t quite present mentally. They’re all wearing helmets, as is part of their uniform, so Karzan can’t be entirely sure, but he has a feeling that all he would see underneath would be glazed over eyes, staring numbly ahead.

The first leg of the mission is a simple one; their way to the control center goes without any hiccups. Alemu is alert, walking a few steps ahead of Karzan; it’s a typical formation whenever he’s with crewmates who excel in close range and they’re expecting a fight. Karzan will fall back to the rear and focus on what he does best, which is sniping from a distance. 

The difference this time is that it isn’t just Alemu in front of him this time. While Karzan can read Alemu’s intentions perfectly, can anticipate his movements with complete clarity, there are two other people present who he has seen fight only once before, very briefly. 

Karzan finds himself watching out from the corner of his eyes for Faust’s crewmate, who introduced himself as Hiroto Sakai earlier. To Sakai’s credit, he moves efficiently and steadily, but even so it’s natural to have to get used to a completely new person; for Karzan, who is sensitive to the subtlest details, having to work with someone who doesn’t sync well with him can irritate him very quickly.

In that respect, Sakai keeps to his boundaries very well, but what truly draws Karzan’s attention is Faust.

While on the way to the control center, Karzan anticipated he would get most annoyed by Faust, who prefers moving around quite a bit from what Karzan has seen of his fighting style. However, imagine his surprise when it turns out to be the opposite: Faust doesn’t get in the way of any of Karzan’s shots even once.

It’s partly the awareness Faust must have, being a captain himself as well as someone who prefers to lead from the front which requires being aware of what your crewmates behind you are doing. But another part of it is simply that Karzan has no problem reading his movements. His direct, even brutal fighting style does not rely on sneak hits or feints; it’s based on sheer power and technique, to the point where even telegraphing his attacks won’t be able to help the enemy counter or evade them. 

It makes it incredibly easy for Karzan to anticipate where Faust will be moving next, which makes timing his shots child’s play. Were they not in the middle of a mission, he might’ve lingered on that observation more, but as it is he files it away for later examination.

They reach the control center with ease, and finish up their business there just as quickly; right in time to head back for their planned ambush. This time, Karzan takes the lead with Alemu beside him, and the way to the landing pad proceeds without any hiccups. 

This time—perhaps out of annoyance—Karzan is determined to use his sniper rifle for some target practice. Hiding behind cover, they all wait until the guard shuttle arrives; the guards that step outside are not as many as Karzan had hoped. As Faust zips across the landing pad wit a flare of biotics, catching them off-guard, Karzan stays behind cover and picks his targets carefully with the scope of his Black Widow.

One, two.

The kickback of his rifle is a familiar weight as he hits two headshots in quick succession, leaving the other two guards for Alemu and Sakai to deal with while he watches Faust make quick work of his. 

Karzan has seen many a biotic fight before, but there is something uniquely wild and unrestrained about the way Faust fights—unpredictable, he might call it. Earlier when they were squeezed in small paths along rocks, Faust would limit his movements, but now he lets loose. Watching it is strangely entrancing, like staring at flames dancing in a bonfire. 

When the guards have been dealt with, Karzan tears his gaze away and helps the rest move the corpses safely out of sight before they all board the shuttle. Alemu acts as shuttle pilot, being relatively experienced in it as well as having memorized the route to the hangar bay. The gates to the facility should open for them considering they took the guards’ security tags with them, which are scanned upon entry, but Karzan takes advantage of the shuttle ride to go over the backup plans he has in mind in case they can’t get in through the gate.

While Karzan thinks, he finds his eyes straying to where Faust sits on a chair, which they are free to do as they’re hidden from sight behind his helmet. It makes it even more difficult to ignore the urge to watch Faust, something that’s starting to become a rather concerning habit.

The shuttle ride doesn’t last long enough for him to start questioning himself on it, thankfully. They reach the outside gates surrounding the facility, and Karzan tenses as the shuttle is scanned—until the gates lower downwards, granting them access.

Karzan keeps an eye out the window, noticing the placements of guards inside; thankfully, as they enter the doors of the hangar bay, there aren’t any presents inside. Alemu lands the shuttle in such a way that the guards outside don’t see them as they step out, which means they have a clear shot to the doors leading to the interior of the facility.

Alemu stands by the doors, checks the hallways for guards, then gives the safe signal as they head inside. This is the part where they have to split up; one pair to head to the security room and unlock the doors of the victim’s cells, while the other pair goes for the victims, taking out any guards along the way and escorting them to safety. 

Of course, the duo’s themselves should be obvious—

“Sakai, you mind if I tag along to the security room?” Alemu says before anyone can get a word out.

Karzan stares at him, hard, but Alemu ignores him. He gives Sakai a meaningful look, who glances at Faust from the corner of his eyes before he nods. Karzan could pull rank here, but that would be childish; it shouldn’t matter who he gets paired up with. The mission comes first.

That doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it as he watches Alemu salute teasingly at him before he and Sakai head off to the left side of the hallway, leaving Karzan and Faust to take the right. 

Karzan says nothing, letting Faust lead while trying not to be distracted by how very aware he is that they’re alone.

His body feels too tense, gaze fixated right between Faust’s shoulder blades as they move through the hallways, which might explain why he almost gets caught off-guard as he does. 

They’re halfway down the corridor when a guard suddenly turns around the corner several feet ahead, immediately reaching for a gun at the sight of them. At the same time, Karzan hears a door they passed earlier opening up to let someone through right behind him, likely yet another guard. Karzan takes a split-second to think of the most efficient way to handle this, and acts. 

“Faust, behind,” he calls, and thankfully Faust seems to get what he’s intending as he turns around; Karzan ducks, allowing Faust to axe the guard at his back, while Karzan leans around Faust and fires off two clean shots to take out the guard at a distance before he can so much as take aim at Faust.

As the guards hit the ground and Karzan lowers his gun, there is a moment where Karzan is still kneeling on the floor—with Faust’s crotch right in front of his face. 

He pauses when he realizes the position; in a moment that he’ll ascribe to temporary insanity, Karzan tilts his mask up to look up at Faust from where he’s still on one knee on the floor. 

Fuck. 

Karzan straightens immediately, taking a small step back and cursing himself out in his head while his skin heats beneath his armor, blood rushing southward. This is the absolutely worst timing for this, goddammit.

“Let’s keep going,” he says, speaking in a carefully controlled tone as to not give anything else away, even if his voice comes out breathier than he intended it to.

—

There’s a split second while Nasri is between his legs when he can almost imagine their eyes meeting behind his mask. On Javier’s end it’s a double take; he’d been so focused on making sure he pulled his weight and took care of his guard that he hadn’t even realized the position they were in. 

His palms throb, keeping tempo for the rush of his blood. He’s grateful that Nasri breaks the spell by pulling away. It’s so difficult to be sure given the artificially modified ringing of his voice, but Javier wants to tell himself that he’s not imagining the way it sounded like Nasri’s breath had caught in his throat.

Javier simply nods before swallowing, letting out an attempt to sound even and composed and completely in control— “Quick thinking.”

He takes his position at the front again and hastily retapes the box labeled “things I won’t think about Nasri while we’re on an active mission” in his mind.

So far, following the plan has gone as smoothly as he could hope. It’s reassuring to see everyone’s cohesion even with such a quick turnaround on the assignment and actual execution on the mission. He doesn’t want to risk that by getting distracted—or worse, turned on.

He’s grateful that Nasri can’t see his face as he pushes forward. They move quickly but cautiously. Nasri’s presence at his back certainly tempers his impulsiveness just a little; he doesn’t want to knock the functional direction their interactions have taken off course with a simple mistake.

Guards interrupt their path a handful of times. The two of them pick the hostiles off swiftly, both falling in the almost trance-like rhythm of battle. The parallel nature of their motivations for this mission fittingly reflect in the cohesion of the way they fight. He’s almost grateful for Hiroto’s sneakiness—and evidently Kedir’s too, based on that cheeky salute—for putting him in a position to explore his curiosity. Javier’s definitely not sharing that thought with his crew member though; the Maharlika definitely have more than enough ammunition to tease him with. 

Javier sees the freight elevator up ahead. It’s one of the landmarks he’d noted along the route when they were studying it. They’re close now, and need to take a right after the door to the weapons storage room at the end of the hallway. Brisk steps take them past the freight elevator. Javier stops to peer around the corner and spots several guards at the same time he hears the elevator ding open.

_ ‘Oh shit.' _

His improvisational instincts kick in.

Javier grasps the security tag still around his neck and presses them to the lock pad of the storage room, grasping Nasri’s upper arm—pointedly  _ ignoring _ how hefty it is in his palm—and pulling him inside with him. 

When the door closes they tense, unsure if they were able to escape being spotted. His eyes are trained on the door and one of his hands is on the hilt of his axe. It’s not until they hear footsteps approach and fade out does Javier relax his shoulders and exhale. In the next blink he realizes that he still has his hand wrapped around Nasri’s arm and that they’re standing dangerously close together, chests only a hand’s width apart.

Javier stops breathing again.

Their bodies line up: another thing between them that’s individual yet parallel. He’s thankful for the tint on the visor of his helmet that obscures what he’s sure is a curious, if not entranced expression. Though at this distance it’s basically impossible to hide anything, even if he were any good at controlling his face when it came to Nasri.

This time he’s the one that pulls away, before the blush climbing up his neck overtakes his face and completely betrays him, visor or not.

He listens against the door to give himself an excuse to put some distance between them.  _ ‘The mission, Javier, focus,’ _ he reminds himself. The silence stretches for a couple of beats before he decides that it’s safe to get a visual. Looking both ways, he confirms that the guards have gone.

“Let’s go,” he rumbles out as he internally shakes himself off and lets out a huff of an exhale. Javier doesn’t wait for an affirmative as he steps out, guessing that Nasri would want to move on from that little…  _ moment _ as quickly as he had the earlier one. 

_ ‘Note to self, being left alone with this man is fucking dangerous.' _

They don’t come across anyone else on their way to the victims. He taps into their comms to let Hiroto know they’re right outside the door. The lock pad turns from red to green and Javier takes in a deep inhale to prepare for what he’s about to witness on the other side.

There are no guards and Javier concludes that the ones they just came across were rotating out. He quickly takes in the scene, which Sadaha had described perfectly. It looks like the victims had been separated by build; likely EAE segmenting them for which parts of the corporation they would be eventually assigned to. 

Javier walks in cautiously, tempering the fall of his footsteps to land as gently as possible and reduce his intimidation factor. He presses the side of his helmet to lift his visor so the victims can see his face. They’re slow to turn their attention towards him, either wary of the strangers in their midst or too out of it to notice.

Thankfully, one of the more lucid ones walks up to the barrier keeping them trapped inside. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I’m Captain Faust, this is Captain Nasri. Sadaha T’veze sent us here to get you out.”

At the asari’s name the woman’s face crumples in an almost pained relief. “She did it, she got you here like she said she would.”

Javier’s throat closes up just the tiniest bit at such a genuine display of emotion. He blinks quickly a few times and gives the woman a comforting smile. “Yes, she did. Are you Cassandra Lluveras?”

The woman nods tearfully. 

“Do you know if anyone in here will resist if we try to move them out? Does anyone have any injuries or need medical attention?”

“Let me talk to one of them first. I’ve been prepping them as much as I can since Sadaha reached out to me today. And unfortunately yes; a handful have minor injuries from trying to escape when they were kidnapped.” 

Javier nods as Cassandra turns around to crouch next to a teenage girl. Afterwards she points out the ones with injuries and they work out who’s going to help and support them on the way out. Soon, they’ve gathered up the victims and a tentatively hopeful energy lifts the spirits in the room. 

“We’re getting you all out of here,” Javier directs to the victims with a warm presence. “I know that might be as terrifying a thought for some of you than staying because you don’t know what’s next. We’ll figure all that out, but we won’t have a chance unless we get out, right?”

He waits for them to nod or acknowledge him before continuing, “I’ll be leading us out and Captain Nasri will take the rear. We can avoid the bulk of the guards if we move strategically so follow our directions closely. Ready?”

More nods. Javier turns around to open the door and file out, pistol in hand.

“Here comes the tricky part boys,” he says through the comms. “Hiroto, Kedir, we’re en route.”

_ “Already headed your way, captain." _

“Good, we’ll need a lot of cover.” 

They move as quickly as possible, with such a comparatively large group of people. Javier peers around each corner and references the map on his omni tool even more closely before stepping into each new corridor. The timing is key since they’ve got to move seventeen people without being detected. The whole team works together smoothly here, with Hiroto and Kedir updating them on the locations of the guards they come across, and Nasri being particularly helpful by guiding the timing of their turns and stops along with Javier.

As planned, Hiroto and Kedir meet them before the last stretch to the hangar bay. They fold into the group with their eyes peeled and guns ready. 

Javier asks Cassandra to do a headcount when they reach the doors to the hangar bay. Once everyone is accounted for, Hiroto opens the door.  _ Timing is everything _ , he keeps hearing in the back of his head. They’ll be boxed in between the open water and the sky and a group of guards coming in for their shift change if they don’t load up quickly. 

Cassandra guides everyone into one of the larger shuttles in the dock. The rest of the squad are on alert. Shit’s been too quiet; Javier knows something is bound to happen. 

He’s keeping an eye on the shuttle when he hears a curse over the comms, followed by gunfire. The large door leading into the hangar bay stays open as a stream of guards catches up to them. Meanwhile, the door leading out of the hangar starts to close, blocking their escape.

Hiroto hefts his gun and starts to pick off guards. A quick glance around shows Kedir and Nasri doing the same. He takes that as a signal to unholster his own shotgun, turn up his music, and jump into the fray. 

Javier runs up to the nearest hostile and kicks them on the chest, knocking the wind out of them and causing them to stumble back. Once he steadies himself back on both feet he sends a couple of rounds of incendiary ammo into their torso. The guard falls back with a satisfying crash of armor and he grins before making his way to the next one.

He pulls them over to get a close shot in when he feels the telltale beeping of his shields taking hits. Javier knows he has just seconds to take cover before his armor starts to take direct damage so he calls an audible and slams the guard in his hold into the one shooting at him. Javier lets out a whoop when they crash into each other and don’t get up before charging into a small group of guards to restore his shields. 

Javier’s completely in his element, and finally able to let loose like he’s been wanting to ever since he got Sadaha’s message. Despite the chaos he’s a communicative fighter in his own way; the emotions behind his outbursts tell the story of the frontlines. Since fighting is his catharsis, he leans into whatever feeling is passing through him—amusement, competitiveness, pride, surprise, worry, alarm, rage—and lets it power his biotics. Hiroto has gotten used to the rhythm of his laughs and grunts and yells on the battlefield by now, and reassuringly it seems that Nasri and Kedir are familiarizing themselves too. There’s an unexpected level of vulnerability that comes along with always having your back on your teammates on the battlefield. He has to trust that not only will they not take advantage but also clean up the approaching hostiles he can’t see. 

It’s always nice, he thinks, whenever he can consider adding to the list of people he can stand in front of. Even if it ends up being just for one battle.

The guards start to thin out and Javier fights his way to the control panel for the hangar exit. He lands a resounding punch on one and hears two others drop around him. He slams a button and the exit starts to open again. Javier wastes no time running back toward the shuttle to get the hell out. 

He’s almost there when he sees a side door lifting to reveal a—

“Fuck, they have an Atlas!” he snarls into the comms as he runs faster, sliding behind cover.

When he looks around he realizes that the teenager that Cassandra had spoken to earlier is having a hard time, refusing to enter the shuttle even as the Atlas makes its slow but steady pace towards them. 

“I’ve got the Atlas,” Nasri’s voice is an anchored promise. 

If Nasri says he’s got the Atlas then he’s got it, but the shuttle is exposed, especially since the teenager is still not inside. As he often does, Javier finds himself in the position to distract. Not ideal, given that Atlases came with a cannon, a rocket launcher,  _ and _ a motherfucking claw for close range. But he needs to buy Cassandra time to coax the teenager into the shuttle. 

“Work your magic, Nasri,” he checks to make sure his shields are fully charged before popping up behind cover and throwing a hazy sphere of blue at the Atlas like a baseball pitch, causing a spark of explosions around the machine, damaging its shields and slowing its progress. The Atlas fires its cannon at him but he rolls away and behind cover to dodge.

“What are you  _ doing? _ I said I’ve got the Atlas,” Nasri cuts through the comms.

“I’m trying to weaken its defenses to give you a path and keep it away from the shuttle—what are  _ you _ doing?” he snipes back.

The Atlas shoots at him again and he flattens himself to the ground. He keeps a farther distance than he normally would, barely within the range of his shotgun. He shoots at it from around cover steadily. Taking one of these things down is like chopping away at a tree. Eventually, they just reach a breaking point.

Unerringly the Atlas aims again, though this time it gives up on trying to catch him and refocuses on the shuttle. Javier charges back toward them, expletives ripping from his lips. He makes it with just enough time to create a spatial distortion field to catch and rip apart the rocket headed towards the survivors, causing an explosion in midair.

He lets go of the field and drops to one knee, suddenly lightheaded. When he blinks, his vision flashes completely white then completely black.

Javier’s unaware of the cannon blast heading straight at him until it collides into his side, shattering his shields and impacting his armor enough that he feels the squeeze and crush of his ribs. The initial impact is such that he feels like he can’t breathe for a terrifying second as he’s sprawled on the battlefield. He has just enough presence of mind to slide up his visor before his lungs hack and he coughs up blood. 

“Fucking  _ hell _ that shit hurt!” he spits out. A ragged groan rips itself from his throat when he tries to pick himself back up before failing painfully. He takes a shaky breath and tries again. This time, someone puts an arm around him and bolsters him up.

—

Karzan does his best to recover from the unintended moment between them—one, he hopes, Faust did not notice. That possibility seems slim, however, judging from Faust’s reply which sounds almost subdued before they quickly move on again. 

He tries to remind himself that they're here to help people who desperately need it, and that he shouldn't let himself get so easily distracted for their sake. Being distracted means the chance of making mistakes increases, which he cannot afford if he wants to save the victims trapped in this facility. 

Then again, it's simple to tell himself this; if his thoughts were so easily controlled, Karzan wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. This "situation" being, of course, the undeniable thread of attraction binding him to Faust, one that hasn't worn even after months of not seeing each other. If anything, that made meeting him again feel even more intense. One might say absence makes the heart grow fonder—in his case, Karzan wouldn't say he's grown fonder. If anything, he's grown hungrier.

Thankfully, even in these hopeless circumstances, Karzan is still a professional. He knows how to compartmentalize, even if it is turning out to be much more difficult than usual. Faust's antics certainly don't help with that, either.

Just as Karzan was getting over the incident in the hallway, Faust incites another one, though Karzan can't entirely blame him for it; their options were slim. The elevator near the end of the corridor dings with a recent arrival right after they pass by it, and as Faust leans around the corner, he curses, likely having spotted even more guards.

Karzan is glancing over his shoulder at the elevator, bringing up his arm to sabotage it and hopefully stall it so they can at least deal with one problem at a time, when Faust suddenly grabs at his arm and pulls him along. Karzan doesn't react as quickly as he usually does, thrown off by Faust's fingers clutching around his bicep as he's pulled into what appears to be a storage room.

It would've been a tight squeeze even without the bulk of their armor. Karzan tenses for a moment when he notices how small it is, but thankfully the interior is well-lit. That doesn't take care of his other problem, however.

Faust is standing far too close, still gripping onto his arm. Were they not both wearing helmets, Karzan is certain he would've been able to feel Faust's breath on his face, against his lips—

He kills that thought as soon as it surfaces, stiff beneath his armor from head to toe; even worse when Faust turns his head and looks at him. In the silence Karzan can almost hear his own heartbeat, feels it pulse against his ribs. He can't help but wonder what expression is playing out on Faust's face, covered by his visor; suddenly he regrets that they're both wearing helmets.

The moment doesn't last forever, though, even if it feels like it does. Faust turns his head away again and leans toward the door to listen, putting a slight bit of distance between them. It's only when he moves away and Karzan inhales that he realizes he hadn't been breathing.

Fortunately, that appears to be the extent of their mishaps when they leave the storage room and continue toward the victims being held at the facility. The sight of them held in separate cells, little more than prisoners, is enough for Karzan to refocus on the here and now. He lets Faust take the lead on speaking to them, realizing full well the victims will be more comfortable talking to him than to Karzan, who occupies himself by keeping an eye out.

There are no guards to interrupt them, however, as they gather up all the refugees while filling them in on the escape plan. There are a few among them already, Karzan notices, who seem to have grown numb; most of the others thankfully still seem aware enough to realize what's happening. The injuries among them could've been much worse. If anything, malnutrition might be a bigger problem.

Once the refugees have been sorted out, Karzan takes the rear while Faust leads, their charges moving as a group between them. They do surprisingly well at keeping silent, though Karzan suspects that's mainly out of exhaustion; a few of them near the rear start dragging their feet halfway to the hangar bay, having to be helped along by their fellow refugees so they don't lag behind. 

The group is met by Alemu and Sakai once they reach the hangar bay. Karzan continues to hang back, keeping a dutiful eye on the doors of the facility while the others do a headcount. Karzan takes out his sniper rifle as the refugees board the shuttle one by one, but of course, this wouldn't be a real mission if something didn't go wrong.

The guards catch up to them, seeming to have noticed their prisoners missing, while the exit of the hangar bay starts to close up to trap them inside. Karzan glances toward the control panel, but before he can think to make the sprint, Faust beats him to it, fighting his way through the guards.

Karzan tries to cover him from a distance as best he can, adjusting the scope of his rifle suited to closer ranges before he begins to pick off the guards at Faust's back. When a bullet glances off the shoulder pad of his armor, however, Karzan is forced to refocus on the guards smart enough to try and take out the sniper first, though evidently not smart enough to realize they're outmatched.

As Faust nears the control panel, Karzan motions for Alemu and Sakai to start falling back to the shuttle while Karzan holds his position. He waits on Faust, keeping an eye on him from his peripheral vision—when Faust finally hits the button to open up the exit doors, Karzan nearly breathes a sigh of relief.

Experience, however, has taught him better and soon proves him right when another door opens to reveal an Atlas, accompanied by cursing from Faust's end.

Karzan tsks beneath his mask, taking cover behind a metal crate as the Atlas starts firing. He looks toward the shuttle, scowling when he notices one of the refugees refusing to board; looks like they'll have to play for time.

"I've got the Atlas," Karzan states, bringing up his omni-tool to bring up his Sabotage program. He tweaks it to the Atlas' schematics with a few taps, before connecting his omni-tool to the Atlas' hardware.

“Work your magic, Nasri,” Faust says, so reasonably, Karzan runs Sabotage on the Atlas.

Except Faust chooses that exact moment to glitch out the Atlas' systems, as well as Karzan's omni-tool, seeing as how it's connected to the mech.

"What are you doing?" Karzan snaps, quickly rebooting his omni-tool. "I said I've got the Atlas." 

When he glances over at Faust, he finds him shooting at it with a shotgun, hearing him snipe back over the comms, “I’m trying to weaken its defenses to give you a path and keep it away from the shuttle—what are _you_ doing?”

Karzan would've replied, but he's too busy fixing the Sabotage program that got screwed up, fingers flying across the keys of his omni-tool. He doesn't bother to look at what Faust's doing, despite his frustration trusting Faust to keep the Atlas busy.

What he hadn't counted on was Faust running out in front of the Atlas like an asshole and getting himself shot.

The explosion catches his attention first, and as Karzan looks over he sees Faust kneeling on the ground, exhausted, while the Atlas raises its cannon right at him.

A memory flashes behind Karzan's eyes—a bloodied smile,  _ "Sorry, captain" _ —and fear rips through him like a lightning strike, making his body move on its own.

He springs out from behind his cover, one hand still at his omni-tool, though he knows he won't be able to run the program nor get to Faust in time. Not again. It sounds like a siren in his head as he runs despite how futile he knows it is, praying that the blast won’t be enough to kill Faust. Not again, not again, not again. 

The impact of the cannon blast hits Faust in the side and knocks him over like a bowling pin; only moments later does Karzan manage to run Sabotage, freezing the Atlas in place as he makes it to Faust who yanks his visor up to spit out blood as Karzan kneels beside him with his heart in his throat.

“Fucking _hell_ that shit hurt!" 

Karzan's relief is almost palpable as he lets out a deep exhale; if Faust can still speak and move like that, that means he'll be alright. When the idiot tries to sit up and fails, Karzan catches his upper back when he tries a second time, helping him sit up.

"What the fuck is wrong with you," Karzan says to him, emphatically, though he doesn't have it in him to be angry at the moment; the pilot of the Atlas seems to have finally realized he has no control over his mech, opening up the cockpit to climb out.

Karzan grabs his pistol with his offhand and nails him with a bullet in the head, the guard toppling out of the Atlas and onto the floor.

"Can you stand?" Karzan asks, redirecting his attention to Faust, though that question becomes redundant moments later, when even more guards file through the doors into the hangar bay. The Atlas—Karzan's Atlas, now—turns and starts shooting at the guards, buying them a little time, but not long enough for Karzan to wait until Faust finds his feet.

"God help me," Karzan mutters before he slides another arm beneath Faust's knees and, muscles straining, manages to lift him up with a grunt. The initial lift is more difficult than carrying him to the shuttle, though Karzan really does not appreciate having to turn his back on enemies, hoping the Atlas will be enough to distract them.

Sakai waits for them by the doors as they're the only ones left who haven't boarded yet, watching Karzan with arched brows as he carries Faust into the shuttle, though he quickly switches to concern for his captain.

"Alemu, step on it!" Karzan shouts as soon as they've boarded, maneuvering Faust between the wide-eyed refugees while Alemu gets the shuttle going. He finds a corner of the shuttle to carefully set him down, kneeling beside him with an arm still looped around his back; leaning Faust against the wall would just agitate his injury at this angle.

Karzan yanks his helmet off with his free hand to take a breath of air that isn't filtered through his mask, sweat lining his brow as he frowns down at Faust. He has a scolding ready on the tip of his tongue, but looking at Faust's face, having turned pale with his lips and chin covered in blood, he swallows the urge down.

The intensity of his relief is not one he would feel for someone that was merely a colleague; the fear he felt in that moment, when Faust faced down the Atlas, was one he hadn’t felt in a very long time. But those are thoughts he can examine later, once they’re safely aboard Kasama. 

"Do you have a quota to get shot every mission that I don’t know about?" Karzan grumbles while he works to take Faust's dented chest plate off, scowling all the while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Javi, why are you like This? 😫


	7. TRIDENT III

**LEAVING TRIDENT — JUNE 13, 2188 — 17:56**

“Yeah—bonus points if… I can work in an explosive…” he tries to grin but it turns into a grimace instead.

Javier had been almost surprised when he looked up to see Nasri at his side, though his relief overshadowed every other feeling. The thought of walking and jostling his ribs with his inevitably uneven steps brings him almost physical pain, and he’s grateful when Nasri just takes the initiative to lift him up.

He’s been in this position before; having to be carried off the battlefield—but usually the person doing the carrying is one of his crewmates, not his… rival? colleague? the leading man of his sexual fantasies? It’s made all the more complicated by the moments that broke through their professional demeanor in the past hour. 

His brain fucking hurts thinking about it.  _ Everything _ hurts.

Javier’s breath rattles through him in shaky intervals as he tries to keep his eyes open. He’s distantly aware that Nasri is cradling him, keeping his torso up in an ideal position to reduce the strain on his ribs. His other hand unlocks the seals of his chest plate and Javier feels the tightness crushing his lungs dissipate just a little bit when Nasri finally succeeds in taking it off. 

Javier reaches up to fiddle with the zipper of his skinsuit at the center of his collarbone. It’s compressive—even this part of his armor is an efficient tool designed to keep him intact—which is great for taking hits but he needs to be able to breathe deeply if he wants to avoid getting fucking pneumonia. Dr. Olaniyi is already going to be pissed off enough at him; she knows he knows better since this isn’t the first time his ribs have taken a hit.

His fingers have a hard time grasping the small tab of the zipper. He struggles for a second or two before he hears a  _ “tsk” _ right by his ear. Nasri bats his hand away to help him. Javier can’t help but watch, entranced, as his gloved hand pulls his zipper, the tips of his fingers just breaths away from the skin he’s exposing. 

His breath stutters, and not just because of his broken ribs. 

Javier’s body—traitorous,  _ traitorous _ thing that it is—doesn’t hide his reaction even right after almost getting blown up. Goosebumps follow the trail of his zipper and he almost wants to shy away from the intensity of this moment, compounded by the stakes of their mission, the individual storms powering their motivations, and the months’ worth of intermingled interest and frustration.

But Javier has always been a brave man.

His gaze drifts from the fingers still pinching his zipper to meet Nasri’s. In this position their faces are so close together and he realizes he hasn’t seen Nasri without his helmet and mask since Omega. Back then they’d been this close too, snarling and trying to outdo the other by throwing their attraction in each other’s faces. 

This time it’s much different. He hadn’t really been able to see Nasri’s face in Afterlife. Beneath the scowl he thinks he might detect an almost unsettled (by Nasri’s standards at least) concern. He’d expected an earful, but the other man has been surprisingly caring. This is the second time now that he’s scooped Javier up and out of the range of a weapon’s scope. 

All of it adds up to something incredibly confusing. Usually his feelings about someone he just wants to fuck aren’t this complicated. Right now his brain can’t completely process it, occupied as it is with directing energy to preserving his body. 

As if triggered by the thought, Javier is forced to break their eye contact by a cough that scratches its way up his throat. He turns to the side and wheezes into the crook of his arm. He realizes quickly that his ribs do  _ not _ like that twisting at all as he spits out more blood. 

Nasri, surprisingly, does not flinch and just keeps holding him up even as he clumsily streaks blood across the gauntlet of his armor to try to wipe it off his face. When the shuttle lands in the Kasama’s hangar he waits until Kedir and Alemu help all the refugees offboard before trying to stand. He receives silent assistance from the other captain, and he loops the arm that wasn’t caught in the blast across Nasri’s broad shoulders as he feels a secure arm wrap around his waist. 

—

The fact that Faust is lucid enough to crack jokes puts Karzan at ease as he sets the offensively orange chest plate aside. They catch a few curious looks from the refugees sharing the shuttle with them, though they appear to have decided to keep their distance, which Karzan is thankful for. Being crowded would not have been pleasant for either Faust or him.

When he looks back at Faust, Karzan pauses when he notices Faust reach for the zipper of his skinsuit. It makes sense, of course, as such suits tend to compress the skin in order to smoothly fit it against the armor, so Faust would have trouble breathing as a result; it's only natural he would want to zip it down.

But that doesn't change the fact that Karzan's eyes fixate on Faust's fingers attempting to grab the tab of his zipper. Seeing him struggle with it might be the only thing keeping Karzan's other thoughts about it tempered. Until he takes over, that is.

He pushes Faust's hand aside to grip the zipper for him, then pulls it downwards. His gaze immediately fixates on the stretch of skin it reveals, down the broad plain of Faust's sculpted chest. 

Karzan can make out faint scars here and there, some peeking out from underneath the edges of the opened skinsuit; his eyes drink in the sight, noticing Faust’s golden-toned skin breaking out into goosebumps. His fingertips are just a hair's breadth away from touching, and he imagines what it would be like to pull the zipper down further, far past Faust's bellybutton—a visual that makes Karzan swallow hard. 

His fucking mouth is watering and god, he really could devour this man if given an opportunity.

Faust chooses that exact moment to look up and meet his gaze. Flashes of Omega pass through Karzan's mind as their eyes lock together, recalling the heat and the want that they kept barely repressed as they taunted each other. This is far from a repeat, though; from the edges of Faust's exposed skin Karzan can see dark bruises forming, an ugly reminder of a very recent brush with death that has him frowning deeply. 

When Faust breaks eye-contact to hack up another glob of blood, that only serves as further emphasis. 

It's a feeling Karzan can't ignore. Try as he might, he has been staunch about keeping his distance from Faust up to this point, convinced that he couldn't be worth the risk. He planned on getting this mission over with and ending it there, moving on with his crew on their path.

What got in the way of his assumptions is that, if he's honest with himself, he can't deny what he has seen during this mission. Karzan witnessed firsthand the care Faust showed toward T'veze. Then Karzan saw it again when they found the refugees. He might pose that it was all an act to gain the refugees’ trust and make the recruitment process easier, but there is one thing Faust could not have reasonably faked.

Even the galaxy's greatest charlatan would not go so far as to risk his very life by throwing himself in the path of an Atlas to catch a rocket. Any rational scam artist would call it quits and risk the refugees getting hurt; recruits can be replaced, after all. The fact that Faust really risked life and limb—in the most reckless way possible, admittedly—means that Karzan may have been too quick in his judgment.

That doesn't mean he's ready to trust Faust without question, of course. Only that perhaps he ought to reconsider his initial assessment. This mission might not have been enough to win Karzan over, it is making him consider whether Faust could actually deserve a chance. Maybe not quite the benefit of the doubt, but clearly writing him off completely would be too hasty. 

While Karzan muses these things he keeps a firm but careful hold on Faust, until the shuttle finally reaches the Kasama and lands in the hangar of the ship. After all the refugees have gotten off, Karzan helps Faust up to his feet, following the refugees onto the hangar.

**ABOARD THE KASAMA — JUNE 13, 2188 — 18:23**

Nyitea cuts through the crowd like a homing beacon once they step foot in the hangar, her face looking like the frozen fury of a snowstorm and the thick heels of her boots clicking emphatically.

“A cannon blast, Jav—Faust? Goddess, you look like shit,” she spits out, voice uncharacteristically uncontrolled. Her slip up goes to show how rattled she is. Nyitea takes a deep breath and pushes out the exhale before speaking again, this time directing her words at the other man.

“Thank you Captain Nasri, for bringing our wrecking ball of a captain back to us,” she says with a tight smile. “If I may?”

There’s some awkward shuffling as Nasri and Nyitea switch out being the ones to prop him up. Javier can almost  _ feel _ her urge to box his ears. God, he’s gonna be hearing about this from multiple people for a while it seems.

“I’m treating him in his quarters since the med bay is full,” Nyitea turns her head back as they walk away to speak to Nasri. “Give me an hour then you can do your debrief. I’m sure you have some things to discuss.”

Javier groans, partly because of the pain in his chest but mostly because he can only imagine how Nasri’s just gonna let it fucking rip once they’re alone. 

“Don’t even, Javi,” his crewmate hisses as they trudge through the Kasama on the way to his bed. “You had us all so worried—getting caught up in your protector complex again.”

“Well, it worked. We got everyone out,” he points out petulantly. 

“ _ You _ still have to get out too!” Nyitea matches his stubbornness. 

“And I did,” he says firmly. A glance to Nyitea’s stormy face quells his defensiveness though. “Look, I’m sorry for worrying you. I wasn’t trying to be reckless. I had to make a quick decision and burned out my biotics. I was too distracted to notice the shot.”

They reach his quarters and Nyitea lays out multiple towels on the sofa before helping Javier sit. She methodically undoes his armor—no subtext around it, just the clinical distance of a medical professional treating their patient—before helping him pull the sleeves off of his skinsuit.

“Don’t burn out your biotics then,” Nyitea hisses. “Don’t lie to me and say you weren’t showing off for Captain Nasri.”

Javier just pouts as Nyitea pokes around his body and assesses the damage. 

“That wasn’t… the  _ main _ priority.”

“But still  _ a _ priority?”   
  
“...Yes, but—” he pauses at the sight of Nyitea’s fierce glare. “I wanted to show that I’m not some green rookie on missions. And I had to work off all this fucking energy.”

“And you thought you could accomplish that by breaking your ribs and having another captain cart you off the battlefield?” 

God, Nyitea really has a way of breaking your mistakes down to make you feel small. And she’d do it while she was patching you up too so you couldn’t say shit about it either.

“Oh come on, I wasn’t thinking about that when I was trying to keep our escape shuttle from getting blown up!” He has the urge to cross his arms over his chest, feeling incredibly exposed, especially since he’s bare from waist up. But Javier knows that’ll just exacerbate the pain, so he keeps his arms at his side as his fists ball up frustratedly.

“Ah, therein lies the problem,” she adds to the sting of her words with the bite of disinfectants on his wounds. 

“Cut me some slack. I stuck to the plan, I did all the sneaky shit, and when it was time to act I acted. A  _ calculated _ risk that I took paid off.”

“Goddess, I hope you’re not this defensive when Captain Nasri talks to you, otherwise he might break some more of your ribs.”

Javier bites back the retort he has ready for that. She’s right. There’s a lot hinging on how their debrief goes.

“... How do you think I should talk to him?”

Nyitea looks up from the omni-tool she has hovering over his ribs and meets him with an arched brow. “As captains or…?”

“Oh my god—” Javier’s chest flushes, completely visible to both of them. “Yes, as captains!”

A smirk flashes on Nyitea’s face for a brief second before settling back into her medical professional mode. 

“Captain Nasri looked really worried about you,” she starts with a thoughtful frown. “You should probably hear him out if he’s frustrated; he hasn’t dealt with the stress of your near death experiences for years and isn’t used to seeing you downed on the battlefield like the Maharlika are. Not that that ever gets any easier, by the way,” she shoots him another glare but the worry in her eyes and the way she handles him is clear.

“I’m sorry,” his shoulders sag and he pulls at his bottom lip. He sighs, or as much as he can approximate one. “You’re right. I should’ve thought of other options before jumping to act on the first idea that came to mind.”

“You should have. You had an extra squadmate for this one; I’m sure there was another way,” Nyitea closes the display on her omni-tool before switching her tone from concerned admonishment to the sure clip of a medic giving their list of orders. 

“Half the ribs on your right side are broken. One of the cracks is rather large. You’ll have to see Dr. Olaniyi for an official treatment plan but I’m guessing you’ll be benched from ground missions for at least two weeks. It’ll be four if I get my way. Make sure you’re breathing deep and take two painkillers every six hours. If you can tolerate the pain right now, I’d wait so that you’re not disoriented when you talk to Captain Nasri.”

She stops to take a breath. “Speaking of, do you need help taking a shower? You have blood everywhere.”

Javier nods gratefully, remembering that he can’t actually bend down right now. Nyitea provides a helping hand throughout the process. The shower helps him think through some of the events of the battle and at least begin to unravel the tangled twine of emotions he has about the past forty eight hours. 

When he finishes up in the shower he feels better. He mentally debates between wearing something somewhat presentable or just going fuck it, full comfort. He goes with the latter and dresses in joggers and a fitted hoodie. 

“You’re a fucking lifesaver, Nyitea. Makes all the criticism worth it,” he notes as she props him back up on the sofa beside the bed. She pulls out an ice pack and protein bars from her medic bag with a playful eye roll. “Feel better, Javier. Good luck with your captain.”

Nyitea doesn’t give him a chance to protest before she smirks at him and leaves the cabin, the satisfying sound of the vacuum seal sliding the door closed following her footsteps.

When she leaves he presses the ice pack to his side and tries to center himself through his breath. His exercise in meditation this morning was apparently foreshadowing, and he uses the same methods to stretch out his lungs. He’s lucky his bones didn’t completely break and pierce him; he definitely would’ve been fucked if that happened since the med bay is supposed to be prioritizing the survivors.

Javier doesn’t get the chance to explore that further before he hears a ping, signaling someone outside his quarters, before he hears the door slide open. Nasri steps in, and Javier has to remind himself that this is real life, and not the beginning of one of his fantasies. 

_ ‘Nyitea you sneaky little shit!' _

His omni-tool beeps with a new message and he glances at it just long enough to see what it says.

**Nyitea Madri [19:31]:** Consider this my doctor’s fee.

Javier rips his glance away from the screen as he hears footsteps venturing closer. It’s surreal to realize the subject of his fantasies is  _ actually _ inside the room Javier’s spent the most time thinking about him—and what they would do in here once they were alone.

He’s grateful his whole chest isn’t exposed this time to betray him again at least.

Thankfully, Javier’s politeness swoops in to override every other thing battling inside him. 

He’s intentionally prioritized making his quarters a comforting space and has an open door policy with his crew during “daytime” hours. The room is lit up by a handful of warm yellow lamps instead of the harsh lights of the ship. Oranges and blues brighten up the space, and it’s obviously well-lived in. Datapads, notebooks (sometimes he just likes to feel the pen and paper), and various knicknacks are strewn about the room. Almost every surface and a good portion of the wall is decorated with pictures of him and his loved ones: a group picture of the Maharlika with a sparkling beach behind them, the N7 graduation ceremony with his parents, a picture of his childhood with his cousins in the jungle treehouse their families built. Javier has also started a small art collection of mixed media pieces, though that pursuit hasn’t been getting as much attention lately.

There’s a rug under his feet and on it rests a handmade bamboo coffee table—both originals from Thailand. An oil diffuser smelling of crisp pine and musky oud wood sits within the tray of the coffee table along with a small potted houseplant. 

The sofa is a soft, light brown leather and has multiple blankets and throw pillows strewn over it in a randomly casual way. A few steps away, the bed is on a wooden platform frame. Like the rest of the room it’s invitingly comfortable, piled high with the creams and blues of his sheets. Several thick pillows obscure the open framing of the headboard. He’s thankful that the top of his nightstand is innocuous enough: a small lamp, a handheld gaming device, and a piece of ceramic art he got during shore leave a few years ago.

He doesn’t stand up but he straightens his posture as Nasri steps down into the living quarters.

“Welcome,” he starts, meaning it, and resolutely trying to keep his train of thought from deviating to dangerous places. 

He rushes through his next words, knowing that if he doesn’t get them out now that he’ll just sit on the anxiety of when to say them. “Thanks—again—for having my back out there. It wouldn’t have looked good for me without you.”

—

Faust's crewmate—the asari that Karzan has seen around multiple times—comes sweeping toward them like a storm, clearly having heard of Faust's injuries from Sakai. 

“A cannon blast, Jav—Faust? Goddess, you look like shit,” she spits out, her anger clearly dimmed by her concern. Karzan catches the beginnings of a name before she switches it to Faust, filing that away for later as the asari turns to him with the expectation that he hand Faust over to her.

Karzan doesn't know why, but he feels an odd sort of reluctance as he helps maneuver Faust over to her hold. Which is absurd, since this is Faust's crewmate. There's no need for him to feel... what, exactly? Responsible for Faust's wellbeing? 

He pushes those strange feelings aside and lets Faust go. His crewmate, apparently a medic, tells him it'll likely take an hour before Faust is treated, after which they'll be able to have their mission debrief. 

Karzan nods in understanding and watches them go before he turns his attention to the refugees surrounding them. The Maharlika seem to be doing a good enough job categorizing the injured to be treated in the med bay while the rest are given blankets, all escorted into the ship with care.

As Karzan watches this, Alemu sidles up beside him, casually leaning an elbow against his shoulder as he watches the refugees with him. 

“So,” he starts conversationally, and Karzan catches him glancing from the corner of his eyes. “How’s Faust doing?”

“He’ll be fine,” Karzan replies in an almost terse tone, purposefully curt to signal he really does not want to talk about this, which Alemu naturally ignores without hesitation.

“You sounded pretty frantic back there, captain,” Alemu points out, and Karzan almost winces when he remembers how he shouted at him to get the shuttle moving, driven at least part way by panic. “I could’ve sworn the guy was dying in your arms, or something.” 

“You thought wrong,” Karzan says irritably, pushing Alemu’s arm off his shoulder. “Don’t you have something better to do than prying into my personal business?” 

Alemu arches a brow at him. “Faust is your personal business now, is he?” 

Karzan groans, stalking off. “I need to call Nura, go help the Maharlika with the refugees.”

“Aye, captain!” Alemu replies with clear amusement as Karzan finds a quiet corner of the hangar bay, not yet tempted to go wandering the Kasama, and activates his omni-tool to make a call to Nura.

She picks up within moments. “Captain. Everyone in one piece?” 

“More or less,” Karzan responds, trying not to remember watching as the cannon blast hit Faust. He gives her a brief rundown of the mission, summarizing all that has happened—up to the events in the hangar bay, as well as excluding his… moments with Faust. He has a feeling he would never hear the end of it if Nura found out about that.

She listens attentively from the other end, and when he finishes speaking, she congratulates him. “Sounds like another mission success. But you mentioned there were injuries?” 

Karzan pauses, wondering if he should even tell her, but then relents. She is his first mate, after all. “Faust was the only one to get injured.” 

When he tells her about what happened with the Atlas, throughout her silence and occasional humming, Karzan can almost hear her grinning. 

“This really is starting to turn into a theme, you know?” she remarks, not even bothering to hide the teasing in her voice. “What’s that saying you humans have… two is a coincidence, three is a pattern? You’re going to turn into Faust’s personal savior if you’re not careful, captain.” 

“You’re not funny,” Karzan states, his annoyance colored by a tinge of embarrassment that he knows Nura can make out as well, considering the way she laughs at his response.

“Fine, fine.” Thankfully, she lets the topic drop as she shifts gears to more serious issues. “So, earlier, you mentioned Faust wanted to hit EAE’s helium-3 facilities. You didn’t seem very keen on working together then. Still feel the same?” 

Right, that. Karzan frowns as he thinks it over. “How does the crew feel about it?” 

“They all see it as a good opportunity to do some serious damage,” Nura informs him. “The final decision lies with you, of course, but—”

“I’ll take it into consideration.” 

Nura sounds shocked. “Really? You seemed so set against it when you mentioned it earlier…” 

He has neither the time nor the energy to explain his muddled and ever-shifting feelings toward Faust at the moment, so he settles for, “Circumstances change.”

Their conversation lasts for a while longer, going over the mission again in more detail and filling up half an hour before Karzan thinks it sufficient and tells Nura to brief the rest of the Immortals, ending the call soon after. By this point, the hangar is completely deserted—it’s slightly unexpected the Maharlika left him to his own devices—so he makes his way further into the ship.

He gets a few looks here and there from crewmembers he comes across along the way, none of which he recognizes but gives a nod to when they greet him, though he does not linger for a chat. He spots Alemu in the Kasama’s mess hall, chatting it up with a group of Faust’s crew and looking right at home. 

It’s not so difficult to understand why. While the Fereydun is impressively streamlined with cold and hard steel, it doesn’t exactly feel welcoming to those who don’t already call its halls home. The Kasama, on the other hand, almost feels homey in comparison. It isn’t anything particular about its interior, as its technology is much comparable to the Fereydun, but it’s just something in the air that invites one to relax. In a way, the ship embodies its captain. 

The remaining half-hour passes by quickly in this manner, Karzan caught up in his observations about the ship and its crew until he checks the time and notices it’s been a little over an hour. Faust should be ready to see him, and Karzan would rather not linger on this ship for too long; it’s becoming a little distracting.

He’s just about to head for the med bay when he comes across the asari medic from before in the hallway, who smiles a little too innocently for his liking when she sees him.

“Captain Nasri,” she greets, extending her hand to him. “I realize we’ve never been properly introduced. Nyitea Madri.” 

He shakes her hand. “Your captain?” 

She looks inordinately pleased by his question. “A few broken ribs, but he’ll recover. Would you like to speak to him now?” 

“I was just about to head to the med bay—”

“He’s in his quarters, actually.” 

Karzan halts. His… bedroom, then?

Madri watches him closely. “It’s just around the corner from here. Do me a favor and don’t be too hard on him, I’ve already chewed him out for both of us.” 

Judging by the sharp curve of her smile, Karzan does not doubt that. “I’ll keep it in mind.” 

He walks past her, heading in the direction she pointed out to him, certain that she’s playing some sort of game though he doesn’t think it’s a malicious one. Obnoxious, at most. 

The bigger issue is that he’s heading for Faust’s quarters while trying very hard not to think about all the fantasies he’s had connected to that.

Of course, his brain simply has to helpfully remind him of the way he peeled the zipper of Faust’s skinsuit down his chest, and even despite his best efforts his body starts to run hot. No matter what he does, it seems he’ll never be able to keep his usual composure when it comes to Faust.

He takes a quiet breath when he sees the doors leading to Faust’s quarters right ahead of him, schooling his expression into something neutral as he forces himself to walk through them without breaking his stride. This shouldn’t be any different from debriefing in any other room of the ship, though he knows that’s a goddamn lie.

While his eyes fall onto Faust first, seated at a couch in comfortable clothing, Karzan is all too aware of the bed beside him even if he consciously avoids looking at it. Instead, he directs his attention toward the rest of the room, finding it much the same as the ship; warm and inviting. The colors might be a bit glaring for Karzan’s tastes, it does suit Faust, though the main thing that draws his attention are the pictures spread throughout the room.

“Welcome,” Faust says, drawing Karzan’s attention back to him, which Karzan isn’t sure is that much better considering he is painfully aware of the fact that they’re both alone in Faust’s bedroom. “There’s a mini fridge built into the coffee table—feel free to take some water if you need it.”

Before Karzan’s thoughts can spiral out of control, however, Faust quickly adds, “Thanks—again—for having my back out there. It wouldn’t have looked good for me without you.” 

That throws him for a loop. Walking in here he fully expected to get into an argument, similar to what happened between them on Omega, but having Faust lead with that throws off all of Karzan’s expectations for how this conversation was supposed to play out.

He steps further into the room, eyes tracing the photographs on the wall from a distance as he considers what to say; he finds that his anger with Faust’s stunt before has dimmed to a much less abrasive irritation. Though, irritation nonetheless.

While studying a picture of Faust with the Maharlika more closely, Karzan begins to speak; not outright berating, but certainly sardonic. “For future reference, when I say I got this, what I really mean is that you can go do literally anything else aside from facing down an Atlas with a shotgun and running out of energy before getting your ribs smashed to pieces. I was in the middle of sabotaging it when you decided to jam up the system with your biotic lightshow back there.” 

Critical as he is towards others’ performances, though, that definitely doesn’t mean Karzan is blind to his own slip-ups; otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to grow and improve as much as he has. If anything, in this situation he should be angrier at himself than at Faust, seeing as how he made a rookie mistake: basic communication is one of the cornerstones of getting any strategy to work. 

Karzan breathes out a deep sigh, tearing his gaze away from the photograph to face Faust again. "All that being said, I should've told you what I was doing. You wouldn’t have disrupted my Sabotage if I had, which means all of this could’ve been avoided. That’s on me."

He falls silent for a moment, gaze trailing over Faust as his eyes linger on the side of his torso, where he got wounded by the Atlas. It wasn’t a pretty thing to witness, and it still leaves a bad taste in his mouth thinking back on it. 

Karzan’s foot almost moves on its own, making him take a step toward Faust when he stops himself at the last moment, folding his hands behind his back. God, what was he even planning on doing? Check Faust’s injuries for himself? The idea of putting hands on him in a situation like this is far too dangerous to even consider, even though the temptation has Karzan flexing his fingers behind his back. 

There’s always something strangely charged about the air between them, but he finds it a little different this time. Not hostile, just… tense, and heavy with something. Even meeting Faust’s eyes from across this small distance Karzan feels like there are words hanging in the air between them going unsaid, though he has no idea what they might be.

He settles for a stiff, “How are your injuries?”

—

There’s a small—but loud and  _ incessant _ —part of his mind that is losing its shit over Karzan. Nasri.

—in his room.

—while they’re alone.

Nyitea’s little plan played out and there’s a closed door hiding them from the rest of the ship. 

Nasri steps into view, still in his armor though he’d thankfully kept his helmet off. Immediately he’s hit by the full force of the crackle of energy between them, the almost tangible weight of all the things they’ve both internally acknowledged but won’t externally name outside of jeers. Javier reminds himself he needs to be taking deep breaths, not halting his body’s voluntary actions because he still hasn’t learned how to function at one hundred percent around a certain tall, dark,  _ handsome _ labyrinth of a man.

That’s in. His.  _ Room. _

He’s almost thankful he loses his goddamn mind every time he’s around Nasri because it distracts him from the sharp pains spiking on his side.

Javier watches as Nasri pauses to look closer at one of the pictures of the whole crew. The memories rush back to him easily. It was over a year ago in Sanves during shore leave. They’d scored a particularly large prize and he and Caelus had decided they had room in the budget to splurge a little bit for a well needed break. 

They spent four days renting out a house on the beach. Javier is a firm believer in working hard and playing hard. What’s the point of running your own ship and making your own rules if you’re not making it rewarding? 

On Sanves, he spent a day cliff diving with the boys, another with the medics and the pilots sunbathing and shooting the shit on the sand, and another with everyone swimming in a somewhat tucked away cove. They had taken that picture their first night there, taking advantage of the beautiful backdrop of the sunset.

“For future reference, when I say I got this, what I really mean is that you can go do literally anything else aside from facing down an Atlas with a shotgun and running out of energy before getting your ribs smashed to pieces. I was in the middle of sabotaging it when you decided to jam up the system with your biotic lightshow back there.” 

_ ‘For future reference?' _

He bites back his teasing yet still hopeful initial retort of,  _ “So there’s a next time then?" _

Instead he just listens to what Nasri is saying and takes the opportunity, while his eyes are on the pictures, to observe the other man. Javier wonders if even a successful mission isn’t enough to loosen the tension in his shoulders, or if it’s because of the whole cannon situation that Nasri doesn’t look like he’s in much of a celebratory mood. There’s a twinge of regret that passes through him when he thinks about the possibility of the latter. He’d hate to be the reason why Nasri can’t fully take pride in the work they did today. It was a damn good deal for a couple of broken ribs, that’s for sure.

But then again, if he hadn’t gotten injured then Nasri wouldn’t have held him on the shuttle, and they wouldn’t be alone in his quarters now. 

God, his fucking chest is tight just thinking about it. He already knows that he’ll be utilizing the slow motion playback of Nasri sliding his zipper down as fuel for several fantasies. What if they had been alone  _ then? _ How far down would Nasri have let his hand drift; what would his nimble fingers find?

As hot—there truly is no other word for it—as _ that _ little show had been, Javier can’t also help but feel like he’ll look back at it as a pivotal moment. The sexual tension is nothing new and obviously not going away anytime soon. But what really struck him about that moment was that it was… almost tender? 

Instead of taking his breath away, he had given it back.

Needless to say, it’s a lot to process, even when he isn’t dealing with a major injury.

"All that being said, I should've told you what I was doing. You wouldn’t have disrupted my Sabotage if I had, which means all of this could’ve been avoided. That’s on me." 

Nasri’s full of surprises today. Javier was already happy that he got away with what was, for all intents and purposes, really a rather mild scolding. And now, the other captain is acknowledging his part in the miscommunication that led to Javier’s mistake. He’s surprised but also touched. 

From men like Nasri, this admission is an acknowledgement of being seen on relatively equal footing. A captain doesn’t necessarily feel the need to explain themselves to a subordinate, after all. It’s exactly what he needed to hear from Nasri in order to allow him to lower his hackles. 

“It won’t happen again,” he says firmly as Nasri looks at his side and the ice pack with concern. “I know some people might find this hard to believe, but I’m a quick study—especially regarding my own mistakes.”

There. He’d acknowledged that it was a mistake and reinforced the thread that Nasri had begun to unwind when he said “for future reference.”

A few beats pass, when they’re both looking at each other but not making eye contact or pointing it out. As with earlier, Javier feels incredibly exposed in comparison to Nasri, who’s still in the optical illusion he calls armor. He fights the urge to feel defensiveness as a result, incredibly mindful of Nyitea’s insight and warnings. Instead he considers that this is just how a man like Nasri shows that he gives a fuck.

“How are your injuries?”

Javier’s unique blend of impulsive and dumbass directs his hand to lift the hem of his hoodie in order to show Nasri his side. He’s acutely aware of what exactly he’s just done right after he does it, but moving too quickly now would just emphasize his awareness so he tries to smooth it over. 

“Broke three ribs on this side. Nyitea’s benching me for four weeks to recover, which honestly will be the worst part of all this. Fortunately,” the squeeze in his chest makes his playfully casual tone more difficult to accomplish than usual. He resettles the hem of his hoodie back around his waist before holding Nasri’s eye.

Now that they’ve gotten their tone setting formalities away, Javier brings up his previous question. 

“So—’for future reference?’ Considering working with me again, Nasri?” his face shifts into a disarming smile. He considers which angle to take, gauging what will resonate with Nasri based on what he knows about the man. Nasri will likely respond to a logical perspective. If there’s an emotional appeal Javier can personally make to him, he has yet to find it. 

“We make a good team. Besides the miscommunication with the Atlas, our styles ended up being cohesive. I’m not excited that I have to sit for weeks while EAE’s helium facilities just  _ sit _ there, so leave some fun for me.” 

—

"It won't happen again," Faust replies with confidence. “I know some people might find this hard to believe, but I’m a quick study—especially regarding my own mistakes.”

That actually does put Karzan somewhat at ease, until he realizes belatedly that being concerned about Faust's propensity towards reckless behavior in missions means some part of him assumed there would be future missions together to be concerned about. It's troubling how quickly Karzan adopted the assumption despite his earlier insistence that started with rejecting the idea outright, mellowed to considering it, and now apparently seems to be a foregone conclusion.

It makes Karzan frown a little, uneasy at this progression. He has to admit to himself that part of it must simply be that he and the Immortals haven't had any allies beyond those already part of their network in years. It has been a lonely fight, to their detriment at times, but Karzan always considered it to be preferable to the alternative. Now, he's starting to doubt that mindset for reasons that have nothing to do with the physical attraction between him and Faust, which puts him a little on edge.

It absolutely does not help that Faust's response to his inquiry about his wounds is to lift his hoodie up and reveal the expanse of his stomach as well as part of his chest. The mottled bruises form splotches of blue and dark purple, covering his right side like an ugly flower blooming outward, but after Karzan examines the pattern his eyes fall—inevitably—on the edge of Faust's joggers sitting low on his hips.

There could hardly be a better place to imagine peeling every layer of clothing off Faust's body to map out the skin beneath with his lips and tongue, save perhaps for Karzan's own cabin. As he feels a mild throbbing down below start to come on, he silently thanks god for the fact that he decided to keep his armor on; it might be the right place, it's certainly not the right time to be getting his dick hard.

He snaps his gaze away when Faust slowly lets his hoodie fall back down again after stating it'll take him about four weeks to recover. Karzan makes note of the information, trying very hard to refocus on anything except for all the things he could do to Faust on the couch he's currently sitting on, before Faust does him a favor and distracts him briefly with a tease.

“So—'for future reference?' Considering working with me again, Nasri?” Or maybe not so much a favor, especially when Karzan finds his eyes lingering on the smile gracing Faust's lips, thinking it looks rather charming on his face. “We make a good team. Besides the miscommunication with the Atlas, our styles ended up being cohesive. I’m not excited that I have to sit for weeks while EAE’s helium facilities just sit there, so leave some fun for me.”

Karzan blinks at the slight shift in tone, though he's appreciative of it. Seeing as how this conversation might take a while, he initially intends to sit on the armchair beside the couch—like a normal person—until another thought occurs to him.

It's a spectacularly bad idea. Yet, the part of his brain that's petty enough to be annoyed by how affected he is, as well as his dick, both agree that it's preferable to getting distracted by a man's smile. Since when does he care about other people's smiles? Technically, that might qualify as physical attraction, but Karzan has personally never been taken in by it before. The change makes him feel unbalanced, and urges him to seek out more familiar territory.

So, naturally, Karzan strolls over toward the foot-end of Faust's bed and settles down at the edge of it like he owns it, just to reaffirm to himself that there is lust between them and nothing else. The little thrill it gives him—feeling the mattress and the bedframe beneath and wondering how much it would take to make it shake—he tries to keep carefully hidden.

While his expression is nonchalant, his eyes can hardly lie as they stare back brazenly into Faust's; this is a much more comfortable place to be in, one he has been many times before.

"Aside from what happened in the hangar bay, I suppose I have no other complaints," Karzan replies, trying to keep the topic on track, like a veneer of normalcy. "I'll look into getting the coordinates of the facilities; if your crew wanted to tag along during a few missions while you're recovering, I wouldn't object." 

In the end, it is the most efficient way of handling the helium-3 facilities. Faust's crew are clearly competent, and refusing their cooperation out of misplaced pride would be a mistake. Try as he might, Karzan can't think of a motive for them to turn on him, but his mind won't be entirely at ease until he addresses the most important issue.

"How do you propose we handle the refugees?" he asks, his tone entirely serious while he deliberately leans back on one hand on the bed, the slight shift in posture drawing attention to the line of his upper body, as well as his spread legs. It seems unlikely at this point that Faust harbors ill-intentions toward the refugees, but a little seduction can go a long way in catching someone off-guard.

Though, truthfully, Karzan can admit to himself that that's merely a convenient excuse for him to justify this. 

"We can't simply send them back to their families; EAE would chase them down to make sure they don't tattle to the authorities."

—

There is absolutely no doubt that Nasri wants Javier to  _ look. _

Javier just  _ barely _ resists the urge to bring his hand up to bite the first knuckle on his index finger at the sight of Nasri on his bed. The way he’s looking at Javier almost feels like a challenge. But instead of one where they poke and needle at each other, Nasri is almost goading him to point out the contradicting juxtaposition of their conversation topic and the lithe, sinuous way Nasri holds his body.  _ ‘How long can your focus hold when I’m presented to you like this?’* _

His brain is certainly having a hard time deciding what to dedicate his attention to. 

Immediately he starts to imagine crossing the negligible distance between him and Nasri and positioning himself in between his legs. He’d tease him by letting his hands explore his armor for the seals, mirroring the hurried pace Nasri had in taking off his armor earlier but now for completely different—though no less heartracing—motivations. He would hover above him, and make dirty promises about how he plans to display his gratitude and his lessons learned. 

The air burns between them as Javier’s eyes travel from his feet, up his legs, lingering at his thighs and the taper of his hips and what’s in between. He travels up the length of his torso, stopping at his mouth—the aggravating, enticing, inevitably  _ wicked _ symbol that it is—before brazenly meeting his eyes. Javier’s customarily emotive face does nothing to hide not only his irresistible attraction but also the fact that even after all these months he is so acutely  _ aware _ of it.

Again he can’t help but note the difference between this situation and the one in Afterlife. Back in March, their demeanors were more spiteful, laden with negative assumptions about the other’s motives and intent. Throwing their attraction in each other’s faces was more about trying to humble the other.

But now…

He feels as if he’s learned as much about Nasri in the past twenty four hours as he has the previous months since they’ve met. That gut instinct to  _ react _ to him hasn’t changed a bit, but all this new knowledge that he hasn’t really had time to digest yet tempers his usually hot head. They’re both strong personalities in their own way and used to being surrounded by people that followed their orders. Clashing is unavoidable. 

Apparently though, they’re capable of talking shit out.

Interestingly enough that almost innocuous observation does nothing to quell the fire at the base of his belly. For the umpteenth time that day, Javier adds to the list of things that he finds intriguing about the man on his bed. He’s discovering that Nasri’s being isn’t comprised simply of the distrusting lone wolf outer layer that he keeps so tightly wrapped around him. The compassionate root of Nasri’s actions is now starting to show evidence of its existence to him.

Javier is so curious about how he got this way. And it sounds like Nasri is giving him the opening he needs to stick around long enough to find out.

The look Javier gives him as he holds his gaze to respond is laden with the unique burn of the heat between them, but also of something almost cautiously hopeful. The kind of anticipation that you hold for something that you want to happen, but don’t want to risk thinking too much about in case your own expectations jinx you.  _ What _ he wants to happen though—aside for his ribs to miraculously heal so he can  _ devour _ the man that has so elegantly presented himself to him on his own bed—he’s not quite sure of yet. 

When he finally addresses what Nasri said, his voice is deep and rumbly with the outpouring of his reflections. “Going on missions without me? You really know how to train a man and make him learn his lesson.” 

Well, he’s never claimed to have subtlety as a strong suit.

"How do you propose we handle the refugees?" Fucking hell did he just lean back? His brain short circuits for the briefest second, again superimposing his imaginations of what Nasri looks like without all those goddamn layers. He feels the intensity ratchet up at such a simple motion.

And he’d thought he’d been hot and bothered at Omega, when they had only been throwing jabs at each other. This… after brushing close to death and being cared for—this is deeper and even more overwhelming. He shifts a little, not pulling it off as casually as he would like given his injury, to at least try to conceal the bulge growing between his legs. He feels like he might be in a more compromised position were his body not focusing its energy on trying to heal, but regardless, his choice to go with comfortable clothing was obviously not made with hiding half an erection in mind. More lessons learned.

_ ‘He’s even sexier when he’s not spitting mad at me. Fuuuuck.' _

Javier takes a couple of beats to respond, clearly distracted. “... You’re right.” He clears his throat to try to at least dedicate  _ some _ of his brain power to problem solving.

_ ‘Figuring out a way into Nasri’s pants and trust and not necessarily in that order is  _ **_definitely_ ** _ fucking problem solving.' _

He shuts down that train of thought. 

“While everyone was doing recon I reached out to some contacts at Sanctuary—you know that refugee center on Horizon?” he prompts as a way to answer the question and also to steer himself away from incredibly dangerous waters. Could he even have sex right now? Hell, he’d settle for a handjob. Kisses with tongue. A fucking high five at this point.

_ ‘Oh my god, focus!' _

“...The Maharlika have been keeping an eye on them, making sure they’re well-stocked and able to defend themselves if need be,” Javier explains. “The people in charge of taking people in are prepared to take all seventeen if necessary. But I also figured some of them might just want to start completely over. Do you have any ideas on that?”

—

He knows what he's doing is not only idiotic, it's also risky. Try as he might to pass it off as some sort of strategy, he knows full well that he's not motivated by reason. Like trying to correct the swing of a pendulum by pushing it too far into the opposite direction, Karzan finds himself swinging from one extreme to the other.

His motives are impure for more than one reason: he has never had to wait this long to fuck someone he's attracted to. Spending months on end fantasizing about the same person is a first for him, which explains why he appears unable to think clearly when it comes to Faust. Being here in his quarters, sitting on his bed, alone, only throws more fuel onto the fire; there is a limit to how much sexual frustration Karzan can take before he needs to find an outlet, and getting himself off already got old after the first few weeks.

As if to encourage him, Faust's eyes slowly travel from Karzan's feet up the length of his body to his face to meet his heated stare, and even wearing armor he can almost feel the caress of Faust's gaze on his skin like fingertips. Karzan's growing erection pulses under the attention, squeezed uncomfortably in his skinsuit so he spreads his legs a little wider, even though that doesn't truly help.

Faust, meanwhile, is taking a few seconds to reply to his question; glancing down to where his hips shift a little on the couch, Karzan barely suppresses a smug little smirk as he realizes why. Clearly, his little show has had the desired effect.

To Faust's credit, however, he stays on topic. “While everyone was doing recon I reached out to some contacts at Sanctuary—you know that refugee center on Horizon?”

He knows of it, knows of a few people in his network being involved in it and is aware it's a reputable place despite its past, but beyond that he has never gotten personally involved in Sanctuary. Faust gives the suggestion of letting Sanctuary take in the refugees, which seems a suitable solution, though Faust raises a good point that some may wish to start over completely. 

"I have several Immortal agents on various planets who can help with relocations, fake identities and things of that nature, should any of the refugees prefer it," Karzan considers, having used the services of many a forger before. Not only for undercover missions, but for other victims in the past who needed it. 

But now he has his answer. Faust and the Maharlika truly do not have anything nefarious planned: even if they did, checking up on Sanctuary would be quite easy to do. A small voice in the back of his mind whispers that perhaps they did not see the refugees as being worth the effort, weakened and malnourished as they are, but even Karzan knows that would just be looking for reasons to remain suspicious despite not having found any thus far. 

So, where does that leave him and Faust? It's a question he'll have to consider later, when his thoughts aren't clouded with pure lust. He knows it would be better to leave, but he doesn’t want to.

"You seem a bit flushed, Faust," Karzan remarks innocuously, knowing full well his own skin is tinged with pink from the hot rush of blood through his body. “Ice pack not doing it for you? You might want to… lower it a bit.” His eyes trail down pointedly from Faust’s injured side to his groin, brows arched challengingly as he wants Faust to know exactly how aware of it he is.

His lips curve in a taunting smile, though there is no condescension to it like there was on Omega. If anything, it’s sharpened not by spite, but by visible hunger. 

“Maybe you should lay down?” he suggests casually, then pats the mattress right beside him: the invitation is obvious, heart beating faster in anticipation, and he only barely stops the urge of licking his lips. “Some rest might do you good.”

—

“That’s brilliant—I’m sure they’ll appreciate the help. They all deserve a reset after all this.”

With the matter of refugees apparently resolved, Nasri now seems intent on pushing the limits of their current situation. All of his senses are tuned in just to his bold presence in his home. Though he’d daydreamed about this situation countless times before, the reality of the sharp, acute anticipation that sits between them is not something his imagination could ever completely capture.

Javier  _ knows _ there’s something there, and Nasri knows that he knows. Now the question is, who’ll be the first to  _ snap? _

His flush _ definitely _ deepens when Nasri calls him out, even more so when his lips curve devilishly. To be the center of Nasri’s focus feels like being trapped in his crosshairs, except instead of your inevitable demise you’re waiting for him to kickstart you.

Javier has always jumped the trigger though.

“I really doubt I would get any rest with you in my bed,” he meets Nasri’s taunt head on. He’d been trying to not be incredibly obvious for propriety’s state—technically they’re still “working”—but if Nasri’s going to throw that out of the airlock then he might as well follow suit.  _ ‘Ah, you’re done with the pretense? So am I.' _

Despite his brazen words his entire body throbs alongside the rushing of his blood through his veins. He can feel it even in the bottoms of his feet and on the pads of his fingers.

Javier strives to be someone that is attuned enough to the people around them to be able to predict their expectations, the directions they want each interaction to go. He wonders if Nasri knows that he is essentially waving a red flag in front of a charging bull. Does he expect Javier to take the bait? Or is he trying to see if he’ll shy away once shit gets real?

_ ‘It’s gotta be the former,’ _ Javier surmises as he takes in the blatant hunger roaring in Nasri’s dark eyes, which is surely reflected in his own. 

Nasri’s hand pats his sheets and he almost follows the urge to leap across the distance; the only thing that keeps him from bolting forward is the distant reminder that he’s majorly injured. Wincing in pain: not sexy.

He stands slowly, keeping his spine straight and weight even to reduce the jostling in his ribs. Nasri’s eyes follow him as he rises and there’s no hiding  _ anything _ now when he’s approaching and standing at his full height. Javier’s own expression darkens into something promisingly devious as he crosses the gap between them. He sits in the spot that Nasri had pointed out, hips facing sideways so that he can keep his eyes on the other man without twisting his torso. Their knees knock into each other given how spread-legged Nasri is sitting. 

He leans close, his almost jet black eyes dancing with eagerness for the opportunity for his memories to catch up to his fantasies, “Do you want to prove me right?”    


—

It seems they've both decided to stop pretending not to know why Karzan is sitting on Faust's bed. His waiting pays off when Faust returns his taunt with an implication that plays right into everything Karzan imagined an encounter between the two of them would be like: one round of sex wouldn't be enough to sate him. One night of sex might not even be enough, not after all the waiting he has been doing.

As Faust rises from the couch, Karzan lets his eyes trail appreciatively over his body, though they linger on the obvious bulge poking out from beneath Faust's joggers. God, even for Karzan it's big enough to choke on, and he barely has a gag reflex to speak of. 

It takes every ounce of his self-restraint to simply sit there and wait as Faust approaches, doing his best to suppress the urge of pulling Faust down on top of him. It's only the look of promise that Faust carries in his eyes that keeps Karzan patient, even if Faust takes his sweet time settling down on the bed right next to him, their knees bumping into each other from the proximity. 

As if to drag it out even longer, Faust leans in, close enough for Karzan to feel Faust's hot breath brush against his mouth while he speaks. “Do you want to prove me right?”

Oh, this is going to be good.

Karzan breaks out into a pleased smile, having finally won his prize as he reaches up with his hand, taking Faust's chin between his forefinger and thumb while his other hand settles onto Faust's knee, squeezing a little as he delights in the contact--finally. 

He leans in even closer, tilting his head as he looks into Faust's eyes, and the heat between them is sweltering as he bites very gently into the soft skin of Faust's lower lip. He tugs at it a little as he pulls back before releasing it, resisting the urge to kiss—he has waited this long, he can wait a little longer. The pay-off is always much sweeter with a little anticipation, though it's taking all of his discipline. 

Had Faust not been injured, Karzan would've already pushed him down onto the mattress and had a taste, in more ways than one. 

Gazing into Faust's eyes through his lashes, the hand Karzan has on Faust's knee starts to slide upwards, his voice barely above a murmur as he replies, "I'll do more than prove you right." 

His fingers run up Faust's upper thigh while Karzan leans in again, this time for a real taste; if he waits any longer his heart might actually stop with how hard it's beating in his chest. His pulse is throbbing in his neglected erection, straining against the armor, but hopefully he'll be able to take it off soon—

The door pings.

It's only due to how ingrained Karzan's reflexes are that he manages to pull back when he does, startling as he snatches his hands off Faust like he's been burned while the doors slide open.

"Captain," Alemu starts, then pauses in the doorway, staring at the both of them.

Karzan can't fucking believe it. 

He stares back at Alemu in sheer disbelief, who glances between him and Faust, eyes widening as he appears to realize what he's just done.

"Oh. Uh... huh. Should I...?" Alemu gestures behind him, to the hallway. "I mean, I can wait. Sorry. It's just that Nura... uh.... was wondering when we... you know...." 

Karzan buries his face in his hands, trying to count to ten in his head before he ends up strangling his crewmate. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Motherfucking shit. Of all the fucking times, it had to be now? 

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Maybe this is for the better. His libido would certainly disagree with that assessment, but for Alemu's sake, he'll try to rationalize it for himself. The alternative is screaming in sheer frustration.

Karzan lowers his hands when he's somewhat composed again, though he glares murder at Alemu who smiles nervously while shuffling further and further away from the door.

He turns his head to look at Faust, still sitting next to him. Somehow, he manages to smother the urge to tell Alemu to fuck off and lock the door behind him, but not by much. It's almost infuriating to have come this close and then having to retreat empty-handed, but Alemu didn't just kill the mood, he downright butchered it with his poorly-timed entrance.

"I should go," Karzan says eventually, saying it with such reluctance like it’s almost physically painful for him to speak the words before he gets up from the bed. "I'll call you." 

He pauses when he realizes how that sounded, then sighs. "For the helium-3 facilities. Shit. I'm going to leave now.” 

He heads for the door, nearly wincing for how certain bits sit almost painfully beneath his armor, though he maintains his glare as he grabs Alemu by the arm and starts hauling him off.

"Captain," Alemu starts quickly, nearly tripping over his feet as Karzan drags him along. "I'm so sorry, I swear I had no idea you two were—" 

Karzan clenches his jaw. "Alemu, if you value your life, please, shut. Up." 

They come across Nyitea in the hallway, who arches her brows at the sight of them. "Leaving so soon, Captain Nasri?" 

Karzan scoffs. "Unfortunately." 

The reply appears to confuse Nyitea somewhat, but he's not in the mood to stand around and explain to her how he was just cockblocked by his own crewmate. He'd rather get back to his own ship and process everything that just happened in the privacy of his own cabin, in peace and quiet. 

Fuck.

—

Nasri smiles at him as his hands land on different places on his body. He always expected to positively burn up if he and Nasri ever did something about the tension between them. And even though he’d known it would happen, what he didn’t account for is how his breath would get stuck in the back of his throat because Nasri’s smile is directed at him.

He looks like the cat that got the fucking cream and Javier’s own satisfaction grows from knowing that Nasri is so pleased to have gotten him. 

Nasri’s palm on his knee is an anchor. The hand under his chin keeps his head still as Nasri closes the distance between their mouths. Javier’s eyelids slide shut, expecting a kiss. But instead, he takes Javier’s bottom lip between his teeth and worries the soft skin. 

He shudders.  _ Shudders. _ Of  _ course _ Nasri is a goddamn tease.

The gentle pinch shoots a bolt of light from his mouth and straight to his dick. There’s no shame in it now, no need to hide it, especially not when Nasri’s warm hand is moving up his thigh, its destination clear. Not when Nasri is looking him dead in the eye and basically promising to bring their collective fantasies to life. 

Javier’s hands do their own exploring: one on the side of Nasri’s hip, the other at the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his short crop of curls. Nasri leans back in again and Javier shifts to meet him—

“Captain.”

And of  _ course _ they would get interrupted.

_ ‘Oh my  _ **_fucking_ ** _ god!’ _ He yells internally, hands hanging awkwardly in the air for a beat as Nasri jumps to put some distance between them. Javier is _ so _ tempted to Throw whoever the fuck just stepped in right on back out of his room. 

Javier doesn’t listen to whatever explanation Kedir offers, too busy combusting from both the sheer mortification and the thought that if not even getting to kiss Nasri is  _ that _ overwhelming, then what will it be like when they finally do? When he finally gets his bare skin under his hands, when their bodies slide together, alone and  _ uninterrupted? _ It’s not at all fair that Nasri got to see his dick print and all he’d taken off was his helmet.

When Nasri looks at him, there’s a look of reluctant acceptance behind the raging fire in his eyes. At least he isn’t the only one that’s all revved up with nowhere to go. “I should go. I’ll call you.”

Javier lets go of a worry that he hadn’t even realized he held once he hears the words.  _ ‘You’ll get another chance, Javier.’ _ Even though he knows it’s the rational thing to think he’s still  _ pissed. _ He punches down on his mattress once the door slides shut. 

They had been so incredibly close. But now it’s just him, his hard dick, and his three broken ribs left in the room.

“Ugh, fuck!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned... 👀


	8. BACK TO OMEGA I

**ABOARD THE KASAMA — JULY 27, 2188 — 07:32**

“This better be fucking good, Caelus,” the words come out harsher than he means them to, but lately Javier’s been on edge, and it’s palpable across all of the Kasama.

Caelus pauses for a beat and focuses on his task. Hopefully this little plan he concocted with the Immortals works—he’s tired of dealing with Javier’s temper and eager to finally get started on the helium-3 missions.

“Of course. I wouldn’t change our plans unless a detour is top priority,” he says instead of betraying his thoughts. Technically it’s still true.

Javier pinches the bridge of his nose and reminds himself not to breathe fire at his first mate simply because the man is doing his job. “You’re right. Sorry. What’ve you got?”

Caelus nods and waves his hands to wipe away the earlier tension. “A mole at ExSolar Shipping wants to meet up at Omega to go over the vulnerabilities in EAE’s supply chain.”

That makes Javier’s ears perk up. The EAE missions haven’t moved in weeks. Nasri had called him, as promised, after their interrupted not-kiss last month. They’d gotten more work done that he thought they would, though the end of the call did end in some rather blatant provocations and invitations that made Javier’s blush visible even through the blue of the vidcall. 

The plan was to team up to start hitting the EAE helium-3 facilities. After the success of the Trident mission, it had been a no-brainer for him to team up with the Immortals. Lucky for him that by the end of the day that Nasri had considered him and his crew up to snuff too.

They had talked and exchanged messages a couple times more, until suddenly… he just stopped getting responses. Soon after that he started hearing stories about the Immortals slaughtering victims that needed supplies for not paying a bullshit “delivery” fee in return. He’s not sure what to think of that story—it seems antithetical to what Nasri believes in to expect something in return from victims who already don’t have anything, even more so to outright kill them. What does he gain from that?

But he can’t seem to discount it completely; after he heard of the alleged slaughter, he saw a video of a survivor, claiming that they hadn’t done anything wrong and that the Immortals wiped out their whole crew and took all their money and resources from them. Several pieces of information like that would find themselves his way. 

Admittedly, the abrupt way with which Nasri stopped contacting him after they’d shared… _something_ in his quarters after the Trident mission certainly doesn’t make Javier keen to give Nasri the benefit of the doubt right now. 

Whether or not he believes in the story, it stings that Nasri and the Immortals are obviously taking on jobs. Jobs that aren’t the ones that they had planned on taking together. 

He feels stood up.

It’s honestly his fault, though, a critical part of his mind tells him. He shouldn’t have expected that he would get any more attention than the rest of the people that Nasri lures in. It was always going to be a fool’s errand to try to capture the elusive captain’s attention. And the wound stings even more due to the fact that he had felt so exposed at the time: needing to be saved, recovering from an injury, baring his insides by letting him into his living space.

A sharp pain twists and digs in right behind his sternum if he thinks about it too long so he just tries not to. Easier said than done though, since he’s really only gotten back on the saddle of ground missions a little over a week ago so his distractions have been limited. Before that he couldn’t even get into a fight to release his energy. And touching himself has been deeply unsatisfying, especially when he feels so aggravated and insulted by his favorite fantasy.

Maybe this new lead is what he needs to finally take his mind off of a certain captain.

“That sounds promising, Caelus. When do they want to meet?”

“In about twelve hours in the Tuhi District.”

Javier’s a little surprised at that, but he supposes the contact might have time sensitive information. “—Alright, have Saritia take us to Omega then.”

“Copy that. By the way, the message requested that it’s just you that goes.”

“How do we know it’s not a trap?” He raises a questioning eyebrow. 

“I recently set up an encrypted messaging network that’s just for the Maharlika and a short list of trusted contacts. Anyone that sends a message through the network a) has to know about it in the first place and b) has to have been referred by one of the original contacts on the list.”

“That’s brilliant. Great work,” Javier gives the turian a genuine, proud smile. His mood lightens a little. Fuck Nasri and his smile that’s equal parts danger and reassuring, like he’ll ruin your life but it’ll be so good you’ll enjoy it. He has his crew and that’s all he needs.

“Thanks Javi,” his mandibles click with satisfaction. “Wear your civvies by the way, we don’t want to alert anyone in case the contact is being watched. Who should we have around the perimeter while you head to the meeting spot?”

“You and Irdan. With Aviria close by in a shuttle in case something goes to shit.”

Caelus nods as he types on his datapad. They spend about another half hour prepping before Javier passes the time training and sparring in the hangar bay before it’s time to get ready. 

**OMEGA — JULY 27, 2188 — 19:15**

_41 24.2028, 2 10.4418  
_ _426759  
_ _8_

Javier checks his omnitool to make sure he’s in the right place. The facade of the narrow building looks nondescript enough, and when he enters the code he’s been given into the keypad, the door opens to reveal a small corridor with an elevator. He assumes the last line of the message refers to the floor and presses the button for the top level. Once the elevator slides open, he takes one last flight of stairs.

He steps onto a rooftop garden.

_‘Interesting location for a rendezvous...'_

As is always his instinct, Javier takes in his surroundings and builds his mental map for the place. It’s more or less a rectangle, with the middle dedicated to a glass skylight wrapped by a wrought iron railing, and large ferns.

Immediately to the right when you climb the stairs are two small, separate seating areas and a fountain. Across the roof is a larger seating area with long couches and side chairs. Curiously, there is a tea tray on the coffee table. 

Javier approaches carefully, keeping his senses aware of anything that might be out of place or off. The tea tray seems innocuous enough, he decides as he sits on the sofa facing the stairs. There are three small, sealed jars of loose leaf teas, and a teapot that’s steaming from the spout. He looks around for any indication that he _shouldn’t_ touch the tea tray but finds none. He smells each of the jars before picking the most robust and complex. Javier measures out enough tea and adds a little more on top before depositing the leaves into the net cradle in the teapot. He’s finishing up setting a timer on his omni-tool when his ears pick up footsteps on the stairs.

He stands up to his full height and bears an approachable expression. Time to turn the charm on and secure a mission that’ll take his mind off of all the other shit. 

It’s only because he’s looking so intently at the stairs that he recognizes a familiar silhouette before he even sees it in full. 

_‘Fuck. Really?'_

A thousand emotions whip through him—his disappointment, his frustration, his confusion, and despite it all his apparently ill-placed excitement—in the time it takes for Nasri to reach the top of the stairs. He’s not sure which one won the fight to the top, just that his fight or flight reaction has kicked in and somehow he wants to do both.

“Why are _you_ here?” he throws sharply once Nasri can see the contempt in his face.

—

“You’re certain your source is reliable?” Karzan says to Nura, walking beside him as they navigate the marketplace of Omega. It happened that the ship needed a few things for maintenance that they could only find here, which coincided rather conveniently with the news that a mole from ExSolar Shipping wants to meet him. “You know how I feel about personally meeting with contacts that aren’t part of our network.” 

“I know, captain, but we can’t pass on this opportunity,” Nura says, standing still at a shop to look at a model ship of the Normandy they have on sale. “You’ve been avoiding missions related to EAE for the past month. I know the intel about Fau- about the Maharlika was a tough pill to swallow, but EAE still needs taking down.” 

Karzan frowns deeply at the near-mention of a name he has been dodging for weeks on end, now. Something about this whole situation doesn’t sit right, but he can’t take a risk based on a hunch: the moment he heard about the rumors, he thought it better to cut off contact and take some time to investigate rather than risk tipping off Faust. 

He could’ve pretended as if nothing was amiss and continued speaking to Faust, but that kind of deception—which once came so naturally to him—has him ill at ease. It reminds him of the fiasco on Benning, which is an outcome he would rather avoid.

To say he was taken aback by rumors of Faust selling information gained on his missions to the competing corporations would be an understatement. It seemed hard to believe, especially with everything that Karzan knows, or thinks he knows, about his rival captain. Faust doesn’t seem the type to do something so underhanded, let alone something that would fly in the face of his professed principles.

But the possibility that Karzan was taken for a fool, especially after what happened between them, has him wary out of hand. It’s better to risk offense than risk falling into a trap, though that didn’t mean he took the rumors as truth. After cutting contact, Karzan tried digging into the matter to see if there was any validity to them, and the results were unpleasant, to say the least. 

Several of the agents within his network reported back to him that they had seen Faust meeting up with known employees from several different corporations. Karzan had not wanted to jump to conclusions, but truthfully, it stung. Enough to dissuade him from investigating further, not wanting to find out anything more to confirm the rumors as doubts kept swirling in his head.

Was the reason Faust suggested to find the coordinates for EAE’s helium-3 facilities that he wanted not to bring EAE down out of altruistic reasons, but to sell the information to competitors? Had he pulled the wool over Karzan’s eyes for the entirety of the mission, and even beyond that, when they met in his quarters and—

Karzan almost cringes thinking back to it, quickly pushing the memory aside. More than his pride being hurt, which is bad enough already, his trust—already as fragile as it is—is damaged. Part of him insists that something about this situation doesn’t make sense, which is the only reason he hasn’t confronted Faust about it, but in the end Nura is right. He can’t keep dwelling on what-ifs, not when there is work to be done.

Even while he thinks that to himself, though, he can’t deny that whatever had been developing between him and Faust was a first for him. Something he never experienced before, something he never felt before. No single person has ever held his attention for as long as Faust has, breaking through walls Karzan had spent years building up.

Despite his determination to forget the whole ordeal, he can’t help but think he might never stumble on a relationship this confusing, and captivating, ever again.

“Karzan?” 

He blinks, snapping out of his thoughts to look at Nura who has just completed the purchase for the ship necessities, peering at him thoughtfully.

Karzan clears his throat; his crewmates have noticed he has been much more absent-minded than usual, particularly Nura. “Where did you say you found this mole?” 

“A friend of a friend from someone in our network,” Nura replies, shooting him a questioning look. “You realize the meeting is in an hour? It’s a little to back out now, captain.” 

“I’m aware of that,” Karzan replies, frowning slightly. “I’m only trying to figure out whether I’m walking into an ambush.” 

“You’re not, I promise,” Nura assures him. “Alemu and Valena are keeping an eye on the building, you’ll know if anyone suspicious shows up.” 

Karzan doesn’t reply to that, realizing he’s more on edge than usual. He rolls his shoulders in an attempt to get the tension out, though it doesn’t help much. “I suppose I’ll get going.” 

Nura smiles as he takes his leave, then calls out after him: “Good luck!” 

It’s a bit of a strange thing to say for Nura, who usually never wishes him good luck before missions; she knows he doesn’t operate on luck. It occurs to him that maybe he’s starting to overthink things when he’s even growing suspicious of Nura, deciding to approach the meeting cautiously but with an open mind.

Once he arrives in the Tuhi district, the location he was given leads him to a narrow, relatively tall building. Inside he finds a keypad that unlocks an elevator; the entire building looks well-maintained, but oddly silent. Is no one else present?

He takes the elevator up to the top floor, where the meeting is supposedly to take place. A rather suspicious location, considering how open the rooftop is. It would be all too easy to set up a sniper on another rooftop—Karzan is beginning to regret showing up in his casual clothes without any weapons. The skin-tight black turtleneck clinging to his frame doesn’t leave much space to hide much of anything, not even a knife, leaving him feeling exposed.

When he arrives at the top floor, he takes the short set of stairs up to the rooftop; from a distance he realizes the meeting place is a rooftop garden, which bemuses him somewhat. Not exactly a typical location for a covert meet-up.

Once he steps out and sees who else is present, however, he freezes in front of the doorway as his heart skips a beat in his chest. It’s Faust, standing there and dressed in casual clothes rather than armor; even through Karzan’s shock he can’t help but notice how the outfit suits him. The neckline of his patterned hoodie dips low enough to reveal the line of his neck and tease at his collarbones, while stretchy fabric of his pants clings flatteringly to his legs, especially his thighs—

Karzan stops that train of thought before it can escalate. 

Moreover, Faust looks less than pleased to see him, though he appears just as caught off-guard as Karzan is as he snaps, “Why are you here?” 

The possibility that they’re both meeting the same mole occurs to him, but he realizes how unlikely that is as soon as it passes through his mind: no one would be stupid enough to invite two prominent pirate captains to the same location if they were hoping for a secret meeting. That would draw far too much attention.

Is this a set-up for the both of them, then? By EAE, perhaps? That seems equally unlikely. He trusts his crew’s intel, and they as well as his network has been keeping a very close eye on EAE. There is almost no chance that EAE would’ve planned a trap like this without the Immortals catching wind of it. So, then what?

Did Nura and the crew set him up? 

Karzan’s jaw clenches momentarily in tension, but after a moment he takes a breath and slowly breathes it out in a sigh. “I’m here to meet a mole from ExSolar; I suppose you’re here for the same reason.” 

His eyes drift along the greenery of the rooftop garden if only so he doesn’t have to look at Faust, landing on a coffee table with a tea-set on it, the teapot steaming with freshly brewed drink, only making the situation even more bizarre.

“Were you… having tea up here?” he says, somewhat incredulous before his gaze moves back to Faust, and then his chest feels oddly tight. He could just turn around and leave, he thinks. Try to avoid this entire confrontation.

But Nura must have wanted him here for a reason. She must know something he doesn’t, he trusts that much, and… maybe, deep down, he still hopes the situation isn’t what it seems despite all the evidence to the contrary. To hope for something so naive is very unlike him, but as he looks at Faust he can’t deny he’s still just as attracted to the man as he was a month ago, and it’s something more than just purely physical. Why else would he still be standing here, trying to tell himself to give Faust a chance when he has already been burned?

Making a decision, Karzan walks a few steps further into the garden, though he keeps a cautious distance from Faust. He considers his approach, wondering how to best figure out what’s going on here without agitating Faust more than he already seems.

He takes a cautious guess. “Nura told me she found the mole at ExSolar through our messaging network. She only told me about it early this morning. Sound familiar?”

—

Javier’s eyes narrow as Nasri explains himself. His short temper has him barely listening to the reasoning he provides, though even through the cyclone of his complex feelings about the man standing in front of him, he registers that this situation is definitely fucking off.

Both their first mates with the same piece of information, tied in with a corporation that’s recently jumped up both of their hit lists. The suddenly urgent, unavoidable and can’t wait detour to Omega this morning. The recommendation to wear his civvies, the roof garden, the _tea..._

Is there even a mole? 

—Does it matter? The situation just delivered the object of his thoughts and furious questioning right in front of him.

And he’s looking fucking delicious in a turtleneck that hugs his body lovingly. The snug fit shows off the contrast between his broad shoulders and hips, even almost hints at the lines of the muscles it covers. 

_Ugh._ He’s annoyed that he can’t ever seem to get rid of his attachment to this man. What _is_ it about him that makes him impossible to forget? Space pirates are a fucking dime a dozen, he shouldn’t be turned just by a beautiful face and a good shot.

_‘It’s the way he gives a shit about something other than himself and actually does something about what’s fucked up in the galaxy when he doesn’t have to.'_

With how much time he’s spent thinking of Nasri, he could probably come up with a hundred more reasons. But this one reminds him that he’s been wanting some fucking _answers_. No more of this self-doubt and analyzing all their past interactions to see whether or not he might’ve stepped on a landmine he didn’t know about or inadvertently said or did something that made Nasri cut him off so abruptly.

No more of this self-blame, either. They had enough of a relationship where Nasri could’ve said something if he didn’t want to talk to him anymore. He picked him up and held him after a fucking cannon blasted him for Christ’s sake—you don’t just ghost someone that was ready to work out how to fuck you even with a quarter of their ribs broken!

And what the hell is going on with this story about the Immortals slaughtering innocents, anyway? They just recovered over a dozen refugees from EAE; none of that makes sense at all.

Nope, no more of _that_ shit. Not when the person who can alleviate all his anxiety and frustration and confusion is within a few meters of him. 

Javier wants some answers. Fuck it if the mole finds them having a spat, he can’t keep wondering about this and not be able to move on if he needs to.

Before he can respond, his omni-tool beeps. Tea’s done.

He turns his back on Nasri to sit back down and busies himself with pouring the drinks. 

“That sounds suspiciously familiar,” he responds, tone uncharacteristically flat. He’s trying to keep a lid on his anger; losing it on Nasri will not get him the answers he wants. At the same time, he’s too exhausted by feeling hurt to inject any other emotion into his voice. 

“And yes I was having tea. It was already set out. I was planning on having a conversation with a whistleblower, who’s probably terrified and needs some coaxing. Feeling warmth on your skin helps you relax.” 

Why is he explaining himself to Nasri with a whole psychology lesson? _‘God, get a fucking grip, Javi.'_

He looks for cups to pour the tea into and only finds two, instead of the three that should’ve been there. Huh. He fills them both, and sets one on the side of the table closest to Nasri though he doesn’t verbally offer it.

Javier’s omni-tool beeps again. He looks down to see messages in the Maharlika group chat. 

**Caelus [19:34]:** There’s no mole. Enjoy the tea and the ‘sunset.’ Meet back up with us once you’re not biting people’s heads off anymore.  
 **Nyitea [19:36]:** You’ve been unbearable. It was only excusable when you were on painkillers but this has gone too far.  
 **Aviria [19:39]:** Javi, please don’t be mad at us but you and Captain Nasri need to kiss and make up!! Tell me all about it later 👀

_‘Sneaky little shits.'_

Well, he might as well take advantage. He was already planning on getting some answers anyway. And he’d be damned if Nasri’s presence made him leave this little oasis tucked away on Omega. Nope, he is gonna sit his ass on this sofa with a cup of tea and watch the planet’s electric version of a sunset.

“I think our crews set this up,” He leans back on the sofa cushion. It’s hard to read the other man, but he’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the slight drop in his shoulders. It’s an odd look on him. Nasri is usually quiet, not _subdued._

Despite that, Javier’s gaze is fixed in a hard glare. He crosses his arms and can’t help the frown on his face from betraying the past six weeks’ worth of his emotions.

“Why did you stop answering my calls?” he tries his damnedest to not sound whiny or clingy or desperate but he worries he didn’t accomplish that at all, with the way that his voice slightly breaks in the middle of his question. 

He hates it. Hates that he probably just opened himself up to what is probably Nasri’s thousandth conversation like this, the one where he tells Javier to stop mooning and get over it because he’s just been imagining everything that’s been going on between them. He braces for it. Might as well just rip the bandaid off. 

—

The pinging of Faust's omni-tool interrupts before Faust can respond to him, leaving Karzan waiting as Faust turns his back, choosing to fuss over the tea rather than address him properly. When he does speak, he doesn't sound particularly impressed even while admitting the ordeal sounds suspect.

This—much like everything else relating to Faust—is the first time Karzan feels uncertain in a relationship. Though, truthfully, he hasn't had actual relationships to compare this to. Only one-night stands that didn't have any strings attached to it beyond being a few hours of good sex. But this, whatever is going on between him and Faust, is a completely different beast. 

But maybe he isn't the only one who feels unbalanced. From the way Faust rattles off about the tea, refusing to face him, Karzan has to wonder whether Faust really is as pissed off as he seemed initially. From Faust's perspective, Karzan cut off all contact without giving him any explanation; anger Karzan had counted on, but from the way Faust is acting, it seems he's more upset than truly angry.

Faust's omni-tool pings again while he pours the tea, and when he glances down at his messages something flashes across his face, an expression too quick for Karzan to catch. The next moment, he takes a cup of tea and settles down on the sofa, leaving out a cup that appears to be for Karzan.

Funny. Usually, tea is his favorite drink, but now it seems he has no appetite for it whatsoever.

“I think our crews set this up,” Faust comments.

Karzan approaches the table, taking a seat on the side chair where Faust put the cup of tea near the edge. He stares down at it as he feels Faust's glare on his face, though he doesn't touch it. "Most likely."

There's a brief silence between them where Karzan tries to think of what to say next, when Faust beats him to it by simply asking him outright.

“Why did you stop answering my calls?” 

Karzan looks up from his cup of tea to meet Faust's eyes, and a heavy weight settles in the pit of his stomach like a stone. It takes him a moment to realize what it is: despite his reservations, Karzan feels guilt. He's responsible for the way Faust's voice breaks subtly in between his words, arms crossed over his chest as if to physically protect his heart.

Before this, Karzan never felt any sense of obligation toward his romantic partners beyond pleasing them in bed. Hurting their feelings was hardly a concern; they knew what they were getting into when they agreed to his proposition. Similarly, hurting Faust's feelings hadn't been anything Karzan had been worried about when he deceived him on Benning, but between Benning and now, clearly something has changed.

Karzan wordlessly brings up his own omni-tool, projecting the messages he has received from contacts describing rumors about Faust and the Maharlika selling information to corporations, including images of Faust having supposed meetings with employees. 

"I started getting messages like these a few weeks ago," Karzan explains as he lets Faust read, watching his reaction carefully through the see-through projections hovering in the air between them. "I wrote them off as merely gossip at first, but it kept snowballing into something more. Pictures, witness accounts, corroborations from multiple people... it became too big to ignore."

Being wary is natural for him, but this time Karzan feels cautious in a way that almost feels jumpy. Like an animal that has been wounded once before and is eyeing the hand outstretched to him tensed up from head to toe, like he's ready to bolt at any moment. He hates it, doesn't know why he's risking getting wounded again, but something about Faust makes him feel brave enough to try.

"I couldn't confront you and risk tipping you off were the rumors true," Karzan says, shutting the projections off again to look at Faust properly. "But neither could I keep talking to you as if nothing were amiss."

Clearly, though, Nura must have discovered something that would warrant tricking Karzan into meeting Faust; were he truly a fraud, she would've never made Karzan meet with him. If anything, she would've been one of the first to suggest going after the Maharlika, which means... Karzan's gut-feeling was right. Faust may very well be innocent.

"I didn't..." Karzan almost bites his tongue before he says something too revealing, but he doesn't want Faust to think he's the sort of man who doesn't finish what he starts; at the very least, his pride wouldn't permit that.

He hesitates, before he carefully offers, “With what happened between us before… I wouldn’t have cut you off over something trivial.” 

His other thought— _It meant something to me, even if it scares me shitless_ —goes unspoken.

—

Unexpectedly, instead of throwing excuses in quick succession, there’s a serious, thoughtful expression on Nasri as he visibly takes the time to consider how to answer his question. 

Javier watches the projection of Nasri’s omni-tool display, expression immediately twisting when he connects Nasri’s explanation and the messages and images he sees in mid-air. His eyes zip quickly over the messages accusing him of selling out to corporations by profiting off of information like some sort of schoolyard gossip that gets off on stepping on others to get ahead. Even the images look real enough to where he has to second guess whether or not it’s actually him in the shot.

Nasri turns off the display so there’s no longer a barrier between them. Javier’s mind races in the silence it takes for him to continue speaking.

Someone was lying to Nasri about him? What about the terrible stories that Javier had heard about him then? Who would circulate these lies?

Lies that were well-constructed enough to really affect their momentum, to slow them down right after a major successful mission against a big fish in the galaxy… 

All the aggravation and confusion he’d been directing at Nasri diffracts with this new information. Before he can tread too deeply into that train of thought though, Nasri speaks up again and rips him from the incoming spiral of questions. 

“With what happened between us before… I wouldn’t have cut you off over something trivial.” 

_Oh._

His chest squeezes a little as he searches Nasri’s face to see that his words are true. Javier’s struck motionless for a beat, caught off guard by the surprising admission from someone he thought was just about to tell him that nothing happened. Even the air itself seems to still as Javier chooses his words. They need to be something equally thoughtful and open. 

He swallows, mouth suddenly dry and the pulse in his neck jumping wildly. These are incredibly uncharted waters with Nasri. Does he brush it off, take them somewhere safe? The thought barely crosses his mind before he completely discards it. 

Absolutely not. He’d never forgive himself if he dropped the ball right when Nasri was gauging to see if Javier would meet him halfway. 

“That’s good to know,” he starts off, words heavy with consideration. “I always looked forward to talking to you after Trident. Recovery time fucking sucks and our calls would make my day.” 

He ignores the heat rising up his neck to his ears, very firmly in that stage of trying to feel out how much is too much in terms of what he ought to reveal.

“And I don’t know who that is in those pictures but I would never sell out and no one on the Maharlika would let me.” Javier’s earnest face twists and he crinkles his nose. He’s honestly insulted that someone would be going around and spreading rumors that completely discredits what he’s been working towards. And then to weaponize that and cause all this confusion between the two captains and crews… whoever was doing this knew where and how to hit them.

“But I think I might know what our crews figured out before we did,” Javier copies Nasri’s earlier actions and shows the other man the rumors that he had heard about him. He’s eager to clear up this misunderstanding and finally remove the anxiety and doubt that had been spreading its roots deeper and deeper inside him for weeks. Though anger comes incredibly easy to him, he doesn’t actually _like_ being angry. Especially not when he has finally decided that he might actually start pursuing the man sitting in front of him and then all _this_ shit got in the way.

“It sounds like I got these right after you got your messages.”

Javier plays a video file between them. His intuition hadn’t needed much evidence to convince Javier that it was right, but this piece of evidence had really shaken him. “Does this guy look familiar?”

—

Seeing the glare in Faust's eyes soften, lighting up with understanding, is much more relieving than it should be. It isn't until Karzan sees Faust's expression ease that it dawns on him just how important it was for him to clear up this misunderstanding. Having Faust think poorly of him, he realizes, would bother him deeply. 

Somewhere along the line, Karzan began to value Faust's opinion of him without even realizing it, similar to how he would never want to disappoint Nura or anyone else in his crew, but with Faust it's even more than that. 

They are both captains, yet upon first meeting Karzan regarded Faust as little more than a newcomer, hadn't given him much more consideration beyond that. Now, however, he knows that Faust is more than worthy to be his equal; though some of his decisions might be reckless and incomprehensible to Karzan, he has seen firsthand just how much Faust cares. Deeply, from his very core. 

Finding someone like that in Karzan's line of work is exceedingly rare, so much so that he hadn't even recognized it when he first saw it on Noveria. He'd be a damned fool to let it slip from his fingers due to his own cowardice and distrust.

“I always looked forward to talking to you after Trident. Recovery time fucking sucks and our calls would make my day.” 

As Karzan watches Faust speak these words, he feels his chest warm over, like it's glowing from the inside out, and it almost startles him. He's not sure he has ever felt something like this before, but as he watches Faust's neck and face color with heat, he can't help but think it's... endearing. 

The blush looks lovely on Faust's cheeks, sure enough, but that aside, knowing that Faust looked forward to speaking to him is doing very strange things to Karzan's head, making him feel oddly light.

He doesn't have much of a chance to ponder it further, however, as Faust continues on to unequivocally deny the rumors. To prove his point, he pulls up something on his omni-tool: similar messages to what Karzan showed him, except the subject in these is him and the Immortals. Accusing them of slaughtering innocents.

As the cherry on top, Faust shows him a video of a very familiar face. "Does this guy look familiar?" 

Karzan's laugh is harsh and humorless as he realizes immediately what's going on here. "Nathan Harris? Yes, I've met him. He was running with Blood Pack at the time, however. Too busy robbing people to film vids of himself lying his ass off." 

Now Karzan has something to get angry about. 

"Someone set us up," he concludes, eyes narrowing as he considers the most likely culprits. "Maybe not EAE themselves, but someone affiliated with them. The timing is too suspicious; whoever it was must've heard about our hit on Trident, which wasn't widely publicized. EAE has done its best to keep it under wraps." 

Someone tried to turn them against each other, the captains of perhaps the only two pirate crews in the galaxy trying to do some good and succeeding at it. He should've seen it coming. Divide and conquer has been a favorite strategy of the ruling class for centuries, there's no reason why they wouldn't utilize that tactic now. That would've been grounds enough for him to get pissed off...

But getting in between him and Faust at such a fragile time, nearly ruining whatever foundation they'd so painstakingly built? 

"Someone is getting a bullet in the head for this," Karzan murmurs, his voice barely above a growl before he realizes how hard he's clenching the armrests of his chair.

He tempers his ire before he addresses Faust again; getting angry might feel right, it's not a productive mindset to track down whoever is trying to pit them against each other. 

"We should plan a joint meeting with our crews," he suggests, already thinking of how they might start working on uncovering this plot, when his gaze falls on the untouched cup of tea still sitting on the table in front of him. He and Faust could certainly sit here and spend the rest of the evening discussing it amongst themselves, but... that seems like a waste.

They're all alone, on a rooftop garden, after not having seen each other for a month. This after finally clearing the air between them. 

Karzan realizes this might just be the closest he has ever gotten to going on a date with anyone. He's entirely out of his element here, but at the very least, he's a grown enough man to ask a simple question.

"Before that, though, would you... like to stay up here a while longer?" 

It only occurs to him after he has asked the question that, while he asked it, the physical aspect of it didn't even cross his mind.

He simply, genuinely, wants to spend time with Faust.


	9. BACK TO OMEGA II

Javier feels lighter than he has in weeks. He can feel his whole being seem to unfurl as Nasri confirms, much like he had, that this was all bullshit. Javier observes as the other man puts the puzzle pieces they had presented to each other. It’s fascinating to watch the stream of consciousness way that he works his hypothesis out, the rapid way that he thinks of the next steps so that they can direct their ire at the right person and not each other.

The two of them have had busy years so far, with Benning and Trident being two of the main jewels in their crowns recently. It only makes sense that there’s been so many targets on their back: with the traps, the bounties, and now these rumors. He never really knows who’s tracking his movements, but he knew that taking the Trident mission would inevitably come with some ugly fallout. At the time he had really only considered the risk that the refugees would be taking, not his own.

They definitely seem to be dealing with someone that has been watching them  _ very _ closely.

Now looking back, he can admit that he was particularly vulnerable to these lies because of the timing. He’d been feeling physically and emotionally out of control right after Trident; unable to dedicate the usual energy he does to trying to understand someone instead of just jumping immediately into worst case scenarios. It didn’t help that he had only just recently deactivated his immediately defensive responses to Nasri at the time. It’s ironic that this became such a major blocker for them given that they had just finished a conversation about communicating more in his quarters. 

Thankfully their crews had pushed them together, otherwise their assumptions about each other might have become self-fulfilling prophecies.

He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. Nyitea knew what she was doing when she relegated him to four weeks of recovery time because the monotony and the restlessness he experienced will  _ definitely _ make him rethink any rash decisions next time. Caelus knew exactly what to say to him earlier to make him take the bait too. The Maharlika just know him too well.

“Someone is getting a bullet in the head for this,” Nasri rumbles across from him, a calculated fury dancing in his eyes.

His righteous anger, when not directed at him, is  _ hot _ . It’s a bit of a thrill to know Nasri would literally kill someone for fucking with his honor. 

Before Javier can say something saucy, Nasri says something else that surprises him. 

"Before that, though, would you... like to stay up here a while longer?" 

Javier’s eyes widen a little but he recovers quickly, never one to pass up a chance that’s so tenderly being given to him. A grin brightens up his face and now his body feels completely loose, eager to finally release after weeks of clenching. There’s a feeling of safety between them now they’ve set the record straight; the air that surrounds them is heavy with possibility instead of distrust. 

“You sure none of your crewmates are about to interrupt us?” his expression turns teasing as he raises an eyebrow. Javier leans in and rests his elbow on his thigh; he wasn’t going anywhere regardless. “I was really enjoying learning about the ways you were planning on proving me right the last time.”

—

The tension seeps out of the atmosphere, dissipating as Faust grins brightly at Karzan's question, like snow melting in sunlight. Karzan finds himself staring, distracted by how charming it looks, when Faust shifts the tone of the conversation and steers into far more pleasant—as well as familiar—waters.

Karzan would be lying if he said that he hadn't thought of their moment in Faust's quarters even after he heard the rumors. It was the primary source of many of his fantasies for the past few weeks; the heat and want between them had been so intense it had almost been palpable, charged in the air around them like electricity.

He certainly wouldn't mind a repeat of that, especially a repeat without interruptions this time.

Karzan's eye is drawn to the way Faust leans toward him, leveling him with a playfully suggestive look, as well as equally suggestive words to accompany it. If his intent is to rile Karzan up, it's certainly working: he is suddenly and keenly regretting his decision to sit himself on the chair instead of the perfectly serviceable sofa Faust is sitting on.

He should rectify that mistake.

The familiar rhythm of his pulse picks up speed in anticipation as a pleased half-smile tugs on the corner of Karzan's mouth. Gracefully, he lifts himself out of his chair, moving slowly and deliberately in a way that accentuates the lines of his body, already emphasized by his tight clothes. 

While keeping his eyes on Faust the entire time—he isn't certain he'd be able to look away even if he wanted to—Karzan slips around the coffee table and settles onto the sofa right beside him, body turned toward him to face him.

It's not unlike the position they were in back in Faust's quarters as their knees press against each other, though this time, Karzan is certain in their privacy as he reclines with lazy grace against the back of the sofa, one arm stretched along the backrest. Faust is less than inches away, but even so, Karzan wants to take his time and savor it now that they have the opportunity to.

For a moment, his eyes drift along the handsome features of Faust's face, and he can't help but wonder what he would look like when lit by a genuine sunset rather than Omega's dim lights—and what a strange thought that is. There's just something undeniably attractive about him that goes beyond a gorgeous face, drawing Karzan in before he realizes it.

"I should make it up to you," Karzan says softly, eyes flitting down a split-second to Faust's lips, so enticing he almost loses patience, but he stops himself from spoiling the fun this early. "Have you imagined what might've happened if we hadn't been interrupted? I have,  _ often _ . Shall I tell you about it?" 

Now he leans in, but instead of going in for a kiss, he brings his lips to Faust's ear, speaking in a low tone rough with heat, "When I saw how hard you were in those pants, all I could think of was your cock in my mouth."

—

Like he often has in the past few months and even more so in the past few weeks, Javier finds himself thinking back to the first time Nasri had ever looked at him like this and then all the times after. Back on Benning when Javier hadn’t even known who he was, in Afterlife when they both had something to prove, after Trident when things had unchangeably shifted. 

And then here and now, on a delightful rooftop garden, with the thing between them not quite named but still excitingly acknowledged.

He watches, completely fixated and not at all bothering to hide it, as Nasri smiles at him and takes up the space right next to him on the sofa.  _ ‘He is delicious,’ _ he thinks again with a pleased note that the observation is not followed by frustration this time but a delightful anticipation. Because now he can finally do something about it.

The atmosphere feels ripe, like finding shade under the trees in his Lolo’s mango farm during the peak of the summer when the fruits hang heavy and smell sticky sweet. 

Nasri drapes himself against the back of the sofa like silk on marble. When he extends his hand across the back, Javier shifts so that his elbow rests against Nasri’s arm as he cradles his own jaw in his palm. Even the slight touches on seemingly innocuous places like their arms and knees are enough to warrant several headlines amongst Javier’s racing thoughts. 

It’s a thrill to be so affected; no  _ wonder _ they were both so upset at each other because of the rumors. Every feeling associated with the other is amplified, exaggerated. The confusion and hurt  _ sucked _ , but this rush of giddiness, the beginnings of exploration, the freeing realization of  _ possibility _ is what lies on the other side.

“I should make it up to you,” Nasri’s voice is in a tone and pitch that he hasn’t experienced yet, and it automatically registers in the part of his mind that files every tidbit about the man across from him like treasure as  _ ‘dangerous.' _

Javier wonders if he’s referring just to the interrupted moment, or if his words carry double meaning because of the misunderstanding they had just resolved.

Nasri’s not at all slick about the way he looks at his lips and there’s a familiar feeling of adrenaline that pumps through Javier at his next words.

"Have you imagined what might've happened if we hadn't been interrupted? I have,  _ often _ . Shall I tell you about it?" 

Of fucking course he’s thought about it. He could’ve sworn that his lower lip had stayed slightly swollen and throbbing for long after Nasri had left, just like his dick. He’d wanted to hear the thud of Nasri’s armor as it finally dropped to the floor. He’d wanted to let the hand Nasri had on his thigh find its prize so he could see how nimble it was. He’d wanted to see Nasri kneeling in front of him, dark eyes boring into his as he wrapped his lips around his dick and they both found out how much he could take. 

Goosebumps raise as he feels the soft puff of Nasri’s breath on his ear. The image he paints adds fuel to the fire that’s always simmering in Javier’s belly. 

"When I saw how hard you were in those pants, all I could think of was your cock in my mouth," the next breath Javier takes gets stuck in his throat and for a second his whole being freezes, even down to his molecules. He thinks if he could burst into flames on command he just might right now.

There is no  _ suggestion _ anymore. They both know that whatever is said between now is something they intend to follow through on. Including the work shit they have to sort out with their crews after this.  _ Way _ after. 

Because now, his ribs are fully healed and everyone that knows where they are also knows to leave them the fuck  _ alone _ . Javier’s already making plans about what they could feasibly accomplish up here. There are a lot of options, the best one the sofa they’re already sitting on.

“Think you can swallow all of it?” Javier challenges smugly. 

He leans in close too so they’re both speaking filthy things directly into each other’s ears. His free hand reaches for Nasri, brazenly placing it palm down on the thick cord of his thigh. The tip of Javier’s tongue slides along the outer edge of his ear before he takes the lower part of his lobe between his teeth and tugs, a reference to the memory they’re both reliving together. “I want to see what the back of your throat feels like.”

—

Faust’s tease shoots straight to Karzan’s dick, the fabric of his pants stretching uncomfortably tight around the growing bulge of it, hiding very little from the imagination as his hips shift a little to accommodate it. The tongue tracing the edge of his ear, followed by a teasing bite has Karzan biting down on his own lip in turn, the arm he had stretched out over the backrest of the sofa pulling back so his hand can grip the edge of it instead. Faust’s hand lands almost tauntingly on his thigh, nearly tempting Karzan to grab it and move it to relieve his own need, restraining himself only barely. 

His whole body is a live wire, sparking with every touch, every word—he can’t ever remember the lead-up to any of his casual encounters feeling so unbearably intense, making him sweat so easily or getting him so hard to the edge of being painful. At the moment, there are a hundred different things Karzan wants to do to Faust, and a thousand more they can’t do yet due to the circumstances, but sucking Faust off seems like a perfect start.

Karzan pulls back a little to look at Faust, eyes darkened with need and hunger both as he replies softly, “Let’s find out.” 

It’s almost a scene right out of his fantasies, but so much better. There’s enough space between the sofa and the coffee table for Karzan to maneuver himself, getting on his knees between Faust’s legs. Both his hands settle on Faust’s knees, slowly running up his thighs as Karzan peers up at him with a cocky smirk, even while he can barely contain the urge to hurry it up so he can find out what Faust tastes like.

Unlike what happened in Faust’s quarters, there is no one to interrupt as one of Karzan’s hands grips Faust’s hip and the other slides over the visible bulge beneath Faust’s pants. Karzan’s own dick throbs as he palms Faust’s through the fabric, rubbing almost teasingly—he wants to draw this out as much as he can and enjoy every second of it, savoring it slowly but thoroughly. Even when his fingers finally hook under the edge of the fabric, he only pulls down Faust’s pants, revealing the underwear beneath.

“Try not to come too soon,” Karzan taunts before he bends down and, very deliberately, runs his tongue over the outline of Faust’s cock, using the thin barrier of his underwear solely so he can tease it out more.

He wants to see Faust come undone on this sofa. Having imagined this before, sometimes Karzan would get himself off fantasizing about Faust’s fingers gripping his curls, holding Karzan still to fuck his mouth. This, however, falls more in line with the times Karzan fantasized doing exactly this: taking control and making Faust lose his mind, driving him all the way to the edge.

Karzan takes his sweet time dragging out the teasing with his tongue before he finally moves on—really, licking fabric is not all that pleasant—and peels the edge of Faust’s underwear down. His mouth salivates as Faust’s erection pops out from underneath, thick and hard, weighty in his hand when Karzan curls his fingers around the base and feels it pulse, and god, does he want to choke on it.

He doesn’t go that far yet, though.

“Fuck, that’s a gorgeous cock,” Karzan breathes out, peering up at Faust through his lashes, a teasing smile on his lips. “Mind if I taste?” 

He leans down and, while keeping eye-contact with Faust, runs his tongue from the base of Faust’s shaft up to the tip, then wraps his lips around the head, sucking it gently into his mouth.

—

“Let’s find out.” This close he can see the dilation of Nasri’s eyes, the way the unending black of his pupils have blown out the ring of deep brown surrounding them to fix themselves in a look that exudes desire and  _ intent _ . 

Nasri moves so that he’s kneeling between Javier’s legs. He accommodates him wordlessly, shifting his ass to the edge of the cushion and spreading his legs. Nasri smirks at him, the cockiness in the expression even more exaggerated by the frame of Javier’s limbs surrounding him and the way Nasri’s hands run a scorching path up from his knees.

One hand anchors him to the spot with a grip on his hip. He’s barely aware of that though because all of his focus is on the hand that glides across his length through the fabric. Javier can’t help but be thankful that he followed Caelus’ advice and foregone his armor earlier, opting instead for athletic wear that didn’t present much of a barrier for the devious way that Nasri is handling his dick. 

He’s eager when Nasri pulls down his waistband and lifts his hips mindlessly, already so ready and almost  _ aching _ for skin to skin contact. Again he’s overwhelmed by the intensity of the other man’s focus when it’s dedicated solely to him. He faces it head on though—he fucking  _ deserves _ it. 

Nasri, the goddamn tease, only pulls down his pants and leaves his underwear still on. Javier shamelessly lets out a low, frustrated growl; his gaze is piercing, tired of the wait but still so drawn in and unable to resist the acute way that Nasri draws it out. The only reason Javier doesn’t try to rush his pace is because he knows they finally have the fucking time to play these games. He wants to experience pleasure the way Nasri deals it.

“Try not to come too soon,” Nasri’s smirk grows before it disappears into his crotch. He’s certainly not planning to. They’ve both waited for this for too long—now that he’s won his prize he’s going to savor it. 

Javier feels a slight dampness and the point of Nasri’s tongue on the edge of his dick. It  _ jumps _ , bumping against his cheek. Javier wraps a firm grasp around the wrist on his hip in response and his core clenches, body starting to coil tight. 

By the time Nasri finally,  _ finally _ releases him from the confines of his underwear, Javier’s whole body is hot and flushed. He’s panting, only able to manage short puffs of breath. Nasri’s large, calloused hand wraps around the base of his length and he hisses through his teeth when the anticipation breaks and they’re touching skin to skin. He feels himself get impossibly harder, like his dick wants to put on an extra show now that the man he’s set his sights on has his hands on him.

“Fuck, that’s a gorgeous cock,” the air behind Nasri’s words brushes softly against his head and he throbs in the hand gripping him. Now it’s Javier’s turn to send Nasri a smirk, the corner of his lips lifted with smug satisfaction. “Mind if I taste?” 

Javier commits this scene to memory: Nasri on his knees between his thighs, one fist squeezing around the width of his dick, with his mouth so close to the tip that he can feel the breath of his words as he asks, ever so promisingly, to eat him up.  _ God _ , he’s gonna need this more than once, he knows it.

“Help yourself,” Javier’s hand travels from his death grip on Nasri’s wrist and loses itself in his thick hair. He has a hold on the curly strands; just tight enough to be present and teasing but not an ironhold attempt at controlling his movements. He watches as Nasri’s jaw drops to lick his whole length, eyes so trained that a building could explode in the district they’re in and it wouldn’t shake his focus. 

Javier lets out a stuttered gasp when his tip disappears behind the seam of Nasri’s lips and the wet warmth of his mouth closes in around him. He keeps his hips from jerking up the way they want to, wanting more to take the time to savor each new experience. Javier makes sure Nasri’s eyes stay on his by maintaining a slight pull on his thick curls, so they can both see what they’re doing to the other, fully sit in this newfound closeness and in the satisfaction and relief of arrival. 

He is equal parts unsurprised and worked up by the confirmation that Nasri knows  _ exactly _ what the fuck he’s doing. Every movement, sound, and touch is deliberate; Nasri’s only goal is to set him aflame and keep the fire roaring. Javier feels his temperature rise—everything around him, inside him, on him is  _ hot _ . His hand leaves Nasri’s hair to quickly unzip and shove off his jacket and the undershirt he had on under it, exposing his upper half completely. It’s a sight unmarred by bruising and the exhaustion of a battle hardfought. Now Javier is eager to remove the layers keeping him covered up, to show evidence of his recovery and give Nasri more to look at and touch.

Javier threads his hand back through curly hair, allowing himself to be swallowed up in the pleasure that Nasri is skillfully drawing out with his hands, his mouth, his tongue. The only sounds around them are the wet squelching of him entering and leaving the tight circle of Nasri’s lips, the whimpers, groans, and harsh breaths leaving Javier, and the low, heated grumble of Javier’s encouragements.

“Fuck yes—just like that,” he rasps out when the tip of Nasri’s tongue finds his frenulum. Nasri really doesn’t need any guidance with discovering what he likes; he listens closely to Javier’s reactions to find out what to repeat and which buttons to push. Firm, short twists of Nasri’s wrist wring out choked breaths, sucking leads to soft grunts, and expletives burst out like uncontrolled shots when Nasri starts flicking against the hyper-sensitive skin between his shaft and his head.

The mix of curiosity and discovery while also knowing exactly what to do that drives Nasri’s movements pulls Javier under, numbing his senses to exist only to overwhelm him with how fucking  _ good _ this feels. Not just the fact that the main focus of his desires has his mouth full of him, but because he feels like they’ve both fucking  _ earned _ it. 

This is not a hook up out of necessity or boredom, it’s the eventual and well-earned result of the months they have spent locked in a passionate, tense dance across the galaxy, learning that what makes them tick is the same thing and deciding to find out what heights they could reach once they folded into each other.  _ Finally. _

—

Faust's initial frustration had been its own reward. The tight grip Faust had on his wrist, the low growl he let slip at Karzan's teasing, the way his breaths sped up—it all serves as encouragement as Karzan unravels him, thread by thread. 

Karzan has always been a perceptive lover. He likes finding out what makes his partner weak in the knees, what reduces them to whimpering and begging and writhing with need for him. Yet he has never quite enjoyed exploring as much as he does with Faust; he reacts to every touch, every move that Karzan makes, which only intensifies Karzan's own desire to watch Faust come apart.

An undeniable part of it is because Karzan has seen how indomitable Faust is on the battlefield. A captain in his own right in command of his own crew, bold and fearless, as powerful a biotic as Karzan has ever seen. To see that same man, who had ripped apart a missile on Trident while facing down an Atlas, be reduced to panting and gasping while Karzan takes him into his mouth is nothing short of intoxicating, but not nearly enough to satisfy him. 

When it comes to Faust, Karzan suspects he may be insatiable.

The heat radiating off of Faust's skin seems to get to him as he quickly peels off the layers of jacket and shirt covering his upper body, revealing the flushed skin beneath. While Karzan teases the head of Faust's cock with his lips and tongue, his eyes wander appreciatively over the firm and muscular plains of Faust's chest and abs, especially seeing as there are no traces left of any bruises.

His gaze traces over the elegant lines of tattoos along Faust's left arm, not entirely filled in yet as they flow from his hand up to curl around his shoulder, wrapping along the side of his neck where Karzan's gaze lingers for a moment. He considers the merits of abandoning Faust's erection to lick his way up to his throat and suck a bruise into the tattoos at the crook of his neck. The only reason he doesn't is because even teasing has its limits, and he's enjoying the feel of Faust's cock lying heavy in his mouth far too much to trade it. 

As Karzan slowly slides his lips down a little lower over Faust's thick shaft, taking him a little deeper in his mouth with every bob of his head, the noises that fall from Faust's lips, the way he encourages Karzan, are making him keenly aware of his own untouched erection straining in his pants. Every groan, every whimper, every hot sigh that leaves Faust's throat feels like a small victory, not in the least because of how long they've both been waiting for this. 

Karzan tugs Faust's pants further down just so his hand can grab at the bare skin of Faust's hip, eager to feel the warmth of it against his palm and fingers while he sucks Faust's cock a little deeper into his mouth. 

He has to look away from Faust's face at that point, closing his eyes as his brows furrow in concentration, hollowing his cheeks as the tip of Faust's erection just barely breaches his throat, though not quite deep enough yet. Meanwhile his other hand slips down to unbutton his pants while his mouth is occupied with getting used to Faust's size, taking his own cock in hand to slowly stroke it; if he doesn't get a little bit of relief in between, he might actually start to ache.

Karzan moans with undisguised pleasure around Faust's shaft as he pulls his lips off with a wet pop to catch his breath, releasing Faust's hip to wrap a hand around him instead. His face is flushed, a thin trail of saliva dripping down his lips and chin as he strokes Faust's cock in tandem with his own while peering up at Faust; he must look utterly debauched, he knows, which only turns him on more.

"Not ready to come yet?" he teases, still slightly out of breath as he smirks. "Let's see if I can change that." 

He leans down, taking Faust's dick into his mouth again, wrapping his lips around the shaft—this time, he doesn't stop until the tip of Faust's cock hits the back of his throat, swallowing it down to the base until Faust's soft hairs tickle his nose. Karzan nearly chokes as he sucks, groaning shamelessly with satisfaction, managing to hold it there for a moment before he pulls back, and then repeats the motion.

No more teasing, now.

—

Javier resists the urge to let his head roll back against the sofa and close his eyes, determined to brand every second of Nasri sucking his dick into the back of his eyelids. Nasri takes a breath before pushing the length of him further than he has before. His cheeks squeeze and his tongue slides on the underside of his shaft; all of the muscles inside Nasri’s mouth are hell bent on making him lose his damn mind. 

Javier applauds himself for deciding to keep his eyes open as he tracks the movement of Nasri’s hand to release himself from his pants. He takes himself in his hand, fist pumping, and Javier can’t help but let a long groan out at the realization that Nasri is so turned on just by making  _ him _ feel good that he can’t resist touching himself. 

Nasri moans around him and Javi can fucking  _ feel _ it reverberating around his dick, how his throat opens up at the back to make the sound, how his lips vibrate close to his base to keep it inside.

“Fucking  _ hell. _ ” Javier lives for the sounds of his partner’s pleasure, and had his tip not been lodged firmly inside Nasri’s mouth he’s sure it would be weeping. The fact that he has barely touched Nasri himself… what sounds would he be making once their situations are reversed?

An emphatic pop releases him and Nasri gives his jaw and his lungs a break. His hands remain occupied though, and Javier’s eyes, completely blown out with a mixture of lust and admiration, chart a sluggish, almost dazed path. He takes in the trail of spit that hangs on between his tip and Nasri’s lips when he pulls back, the smug, entrancing way he looks at him that tells Javier he’s not done, the way that he’s pumping both of them with the same firm, decisive rhythm. His mind takes even more mental photographs. There’s no way he’s ever forgetting  _ this. _

“Not ready to come yet? Let’s see if I can change that.” The taunt is his only warning before Nasri envelops his lips around him again, this time swallowing to the hilt. He feels like he might burst just from the discovery that yes, Nasri really could take all of him. He groans around his dick again and Javier can feel the way the sound changes the tight ring behind Nasri’s tongue.

“Hooooly shit,” the consonants tumble carelessly from his lips as Nasri pulls back and starts a harsh rhythm, clearly not fucking around when he said he wanted Javier to come. Now, he’s unable to keep his eyes on the man between his legs and his head lolls back across the top of the sofa. One of his hands is wrapped around Nasri’s wrist again, his grip squeezing tighter as pleasure coils inside him. 

Nasri’s already using what he learned just a few minutes ago as he pushes him closer and closer to the edge. Javier lets himself get swallowed up in the culmination of his attention, surrendering to the way he makes him feel boneless and tense, like a lightning bolt zipping around in a jar, all at the same time. His toes curl in his boots and his hips lift just slightly off the sofa as a steady stream of affirmations spill from his lips. 

Javier wants him to know just how good he feels, how all that waiting had been worth  _ this _ , that he plans on putting his hands and mouth and tongue on him too. He’s getting close—he can feel that familiar tightening in his balls, the slow sweet build up of an orgasm stoked intentionally.

“Take a deep breath, because I’m about to fuck your mouth,” Javier rumbles out, voice coated with the uncontrolled huskiness of desire. He lifts his head to watch as Nasri absorbs what he just said and pulls back a little to do as he asks. Like he’s wanted to since Nasri released his erection, he grips the back of his head and holds him still, starting a staccato pace as his core and glutes lift his hips off the sofa. 

The vulnerability of the moment pierces through him whole as Nasri accepts him over and over again. This truly feels like something he’s had to work for, to scale walls for. To have Karzan Nasri—captain of the Immortals, one of the best fucking shots he’s ever witnessed, and a graceful, irresistible, compassionate mystery of a man—on his knees, swallowing him over and over again without question makes him feel fucking  _ powerful. _

With that thought he completely falls apart, the almost compact coil inside his body finally springing free as he crashes into his release. His vision flashes white, his spine curves upward like a bridge, and he loses control of the buck of his hips. He spills into Nasri’s throat with a short yell, a grenade of a curse. His body holds itself in the mindless way it tenses for a second before collapsing bonelessly into the sofa, pulse ringing in his ears and breaths coming in and out in short pants. There’s a light layer of sweat on his skin, and his eyes follow the bob of Nasri’s throat when he swallows the evidence of his hard work.

He lets go of Nasri’s hair and cradles his palm against the stubble of his cheek as he uses his thumb to wipe the wetness around his mouth away. Javier smiles at him, eyes warm and content and filled with something happy and pleased and  _ new _ .

“Wow,” he lets out in a breathless rush. Nasri looks back at him, all puffed up and smug. They just look at each other for several long beats as they relish in the moment. 

God, he wants to kiss him, just now realizing that he still hasn’t. 

“Come here.” The hand cradling his cheek draws him up and nudges him to sit on the sofa. Javier tucks himself back into his pants and stands, making a show of stretching, before he shifts so that he’s straddling Nasri. Javier smiles down at him again, expression still comprised mostly of the satisfied warmth of this moment, but inevitably heating back up. He puts one hand on Nasri’s broad chest while he spits on the other and finds his still prominent erection, unhesitatingly wrapping it into his fist and pumping. 

Javier leans in for a kiss, keeping his eyes from closing until the last second because he wants to _ see _ what Nasri’s face looks like now that he finally has him in his hand. The kiss starts off as something that could be considered tender before quickly escalating into a back and forth dance of lips and tongues. Javier is happy to ride the wave, the endorphins of his release rushing through him along with the delight of who caused it. Their kiss is not necessarily a battle for control like he might’ve once guessed it would be, but more of a give and take, a cycle of reciprocation. They nibble, suck, and catch each other’s moans with their mouths as Javier stays mindful to keep stroking Nasri’s length, eager to reciprocate now that he has the chance.

When he has to pull back to take a breath, he leverages the opportunity to run his eyes over Nasri’s form again. From his mussed up curls, his red, swollen lips, to the heart wrenchingly sexy look that claims his face like that’s how his muscles were made to sit. Javier pouts a little at his state of dress though, and his fingers move to tug at the hem of his turtleneck.

“You always seem to have me at a disadvantage,” he teases as he lifts the fabric inch by inch. “Mind me taking this off?”

—

A vast majority of his past romantic partners would probably be shocked if someone told them that Karzan Nasri loves giving up control just as much as he loves taking it, if not more so. It's a rare occurrence, mainly because it places him in such a vulnerable position. He'll fantasize about it plenty in private, but actually risking himself like that with strangers is something he usually avoids. Taking control and being in charge is much safer, much more efficient: that's what sex was to him up to this point, after all. Merely a way to relieve his tension, alleviate his stress, loosen up his muscles.

But it's not like that with Faust. As Karzan watches him tense, listens to him curse, and hears him breathe out a stream of 'yes, yes, yes' like a prayer, Karzan finds himself utterly fixated on bringing Faust pleasure. It's about something more than flattering his own ego, he realizes distantly as Faust's hips lift a little off the sofa, seeking out his mouth while Karzan continues to deepthroat him; he has all but abandoned his own neglected cock, fully focused entirely on Faust. 

It doesn't take much longer for Faust to reach his limit. 

“Take a deep breath, because I’m about to fuck your mouth."

Karzan pauses, mind working more slowly through the haze of lust and pleasure, but as the words register that vulnerable part of himself he kept so carefully hidden from others completely overtakes him. His pulse pounds rapidly in his veins as he pulls back—eagerly—while Faust takes a firm grip of the back of Karzan's head, holding him still, and all Karzan can think is 'Oh fuck.'

The moment Faust thrusts his cock up into Karzan's mouth, Karzan feels something inside him tremble with the knowledge of how much he's giving himself over to Faust, and how fucking good it feels. Faust fucks his mouth over and over while Karzan takes all of it, keeping his lips firmly wrapped around Faust's shaft as he fists his own cock. He feels like he's burning up from the inside out, flaring into an intensity he has never felt before. He could come just from this, from having Faust use his mouth like a fucktoy—but Faust beats him to it.

Karzan feels him buck his hips once, sharply, and hears him shout it out as his cum spills into Karzan's throat. He greedily swallows it all, sucking Faust off through his orgasm until he collapses bonelessly on the sofa, dick slipping out of Karzan's mouth.

In the aftermath, Karzan intends to clean himself up when Faust's hand unexpectedly shifts from his down to cup his cheek, making him pause. He looks up at Faust, and when he sees the smile on his face, softened post-orgasm, Karzan feels his heart flutter.

"Wow," Faust breathes out, and Karzan dismisses the odd feeling in his chest to instead bask in the knowledge that he made Faust come undone like that. 

He doesn't get the time to bask in it for long, however, as Faust guides him to sit on the sofa beside him, and Karzan is now painfully aware of the fact that he still hasn't come yet. The head of his cock is flushed an angry red, balls beginning to ache a little, though it seems Faust has plans to help alleviate him as he gets to his feet.

He stretches slowly, allowing Karzan to appreciate the way his muscles shift and flex beneath his skin before he turns toward Karzan and lowers himself to straddle Karzan's hips, seated comfortably on his lap.

There's something particularly entrancing about the way Faust smiles at him with a warmth Karzan hasn't seen on his face before, meant only for him. He's completely mesmerized by it, barely even notices when Faust rests a hand onto his chest until he spits into the other, fingers wrapping firmly around Karzan's cock. Were it not for the weight of him on Karzan's lap, his hips would’ve jumped; he squeezes his eyes shut and only barely smothers the groan threatening to leave his mouth.

When he blinks his eyes open again he sees Faust lean in to brush his lips against Karzan's, so soft Karzan finds himself short of breath, feeling it catch in his throat. The sensation of Faust's grip on him, pumping his length with firm strokes, already has Karzan tensing from head to toe. Add onto that the feeling of Faust's lips, his tongue, his mouth, and Karzan finds himself clutching at Faust like a man drowning.

One hand slides through the short hairs on the back of Faust's head while the other unashamedly slides around Faust's hips to cup his ass, pulling him as close as possible without getting in the way of the toe-curling handjob he's giving. 

When Faust breaks the kiss, Karzan nearly gasps, left panting hard in the aftermath. He's so far gone that he's barely aware of the tug on his sweater until Faust voices his intentions, starting to lift the fabric. Karzan clenches his jaw from the effort of trying to stay at least semi-composed, lifting his arms to help Faust along. 

"Tear it off me if you have to," he hisses; the turtleneck comes off swiftly, discarded onto the floor.

The moment Karzan's arms are free to lower again they immediately wrap around Faust's back. He feels his self-restraint fracturing with every stroke of Faust's hand along his cock, urging him on. Faust's other hand is intent on exploring the dips and lines of Karzan's upper body, making Karzan's stomach jump with his almost teasing touches while his mouth finds Karzan's again, resuming their kisses. They're a little sloppier, wetter and hotter as Karzan can feel himself reaching the edge.

Faust's scent mingled with sex surrounds him, going right to his head. Karzan feels like he's getting drunk off every kiss, gasping in between when Faust's hand speeds up—it doesn’t take much more than that. 

Karzan finally comes, breathing out his release against Faust's mouth in a downright obscene groan, slipping unintentionally from his throat while his fingers dig into Faust's back. His muscles strain with the intensity of the pleasure, nearly quivering from it as his cum splatters across his abs and spills over Faust's fingers. It’s fucking blinding, light and heavy at the same time, emptying his head and filling it up all at once. 

When the peak of it passes, Karzan sags into the back of the sofa, eyes shut as he catches his breath. Fuck. When has he ever come that hard from a hand-job before?

After a few beats pass, Karzan's eyes slide open again to look at Faust, and he knows it's because it's him. In a single moment of either perfect clarity or insanity, with Faust still in his arms, Karzan thinks he doesn't want to let him go.

The thought nearly snaps him out of his blissful orgasmic daze, insecurity beginning to take root. If he doesn't want to let Faust go, what does that mean for the both of them? He already knew it wasn't just about the physical attraction, and even after this he knows it's not just about the sex.

He pulls his arms back to let Faust slide off his lap and clean up while Karzan tucks himself into his pants. Thankfully there's a few napkins on the coffee table they can use—Karzan knows his silence now is noticeable, but he has no idea how to untangle this mess of feelings inside of him, let alone voice them to Faust. But he can’t simply sit here and give him nothing; while Karzan is confused about many things at the moment, the one thing he is certain of is that Faust means more than that to him. Deserves more than being treated like a casual fling. 

Eventually, Karzan takes a breath and quietly, almost uncertainly, asks, "Where do we go from here?"

Or rather, what the fuck just happened, but perhaps phrased more delicately.


	10. BACK TO OMEGA III

Nasri almost looks cute with the way his jaw sets when Javier interrupts the strokes of his hand to take off his sweater. He barely restrains the amused laugh in his throat when Nasri  _ hisses _ as he twists to rip the garment off. Post-orgasm Javi is goofy, prone to belly laughs and giddy grins. Nasri’s not there yet though; they can both laugh over their shared impatience  _ after _ Javier gives him his reward.

Nasri’s arms lock behind his back and Javier leans in as close as he can without obstructing the sure movements of his fist. His eyes rove over Nasri’s now exposed chest, his eyes finally able to fill in the blanks of his imagination. He’s pleased to see that his guess about how the hair that covers his chest would taper down to the ridges of his abs then thin to a trail that spreads out above his dick like the spread of roots under the ground. But though he’d guessed it, fantasized about it, now he’s actually looking and touching. His free hand follows the path his eyes took. The pads of his fingers familiarize themselves with the texture of the thick, curly hair that covers Nasri, with the lines of his muscles, and how to get his nipples to harden. 

His own dick stirs in his pants again but he ignores it, completely focused on drinking in the sight of Karzan Nasri pinned between his legs, cock out while he pants and squirms his way to an orgasm. Though his dick is only thinking about round two in the immediate future right now, Javier’s mind and heart are already committing to finding out how to make sure he has as much of these moments to look forward to as Nasri will let him. One taste is not enough, not when he’s only just started to learn and explore and feel.

God—he really, really _ wants _ Karzan Nasri. 

With that thought their lips crash back together again. It’s messier this time, like the tangle of their emotions and the frantic way that Javier is pushing Nasri towards an implosion. He pushes his tongue inside his mouth, liking the thought that he’s tangling with the same muscle that brought him so much pleasure earlier. 

Nasri loses it with a roar, lips opening in an O as Javier catches the sound, relishing in the slight scratch of the death grip of the fingers on his back. Below him Nasri’s body bows and Javier groans back when he feels the hot spurt of his cum between his fingers. He spreads it around Nasri’s dick, still pumping it for several long beats after his peak to prolong the rush lighting him from the inside out.

Afterwards, Nasri collapses into the sofa, body spent and breath coming in and out in harsh pants. Javier keeps his eyes trained on him, gaze full of wonder and the feeling of accomplishment. Fuck, this is  _ the _ hottest thing he’s ever done. Nasri opens his eyes after several long seconds, when his breath has somewhat mellowed. There’s a sizzling moment of vulnerability and something he can’t quite identify. As soon as he registers it though, it’s snuffed out by apprehension as Nasri presumably floats back down from cloud nine and lands his feet back on the ground.

In the same moment Nasri pulls his arms back from around him. Javier feels the mood shift as reality seems to set in for Nasri so he takes the opportunity to give the man some space to process for a few seconds. Instead of feeling disappointed that Nasri’s eyes had so quickly shifted from want and intent to caution, Javier feels galvanized. 

There is  _ something _ between them that’s now ripened in the past hour. Something he’s willing to bet might be one of the most rewarding things he’s ever pursued. The emotions battling for dominance on Nasri’s expression and body language, slightly less guarded right after an orgasm, confirm for Javier that he has a fucking chance.

So he busies himself with the clean up and lets Nasri collect himself. His decision pans out when he hears Nasri ask, voice tentative and heavy with hesitation, "Where do we go from here?"

Javier sits back down next to Nasri, sitting close and tilted towards him to be reassuring and so mindful of how carefully he needs to handle these newly exposed vulnerabilities. The contrast in the man he knew Nasri to be yesterday and the cautiously exposed lover he’s become today is stark. It catches Javier completely off guard. He’d been expecting Nasri to distance himself from him after all this and had been prepared to fight for it. But instead, it feels like in his own way, Nasri is telling him that the door is unlocked, if not open.

He realizes he’s talking to Karzan.

The epiphany shakes him and there’s a sweet, sweet tightness in his chest as he considers what he has to do. It’s interesting how the tables turned so quickly. Just earlier this evening he had been flushed because he admitted to him that he looked forward to their calls. Now it’s him setting their direction. 

“Well first, I need you to know my name,” he reaches out to wrap his hand around Karzan’s wrist again, though this time it’s in a gentle grasp, with his pointer and middle finger extended straight over the back of his hand. He tilts so that they’re facing each other and Karzan can see how brightly Javi’s eyes shine with soft admiration.

“My name is Javier. Javier Agbayani. The Maharlika and my family call me Javi,” he shares with a fond smile. Though Javi has been open with Karzan so far, revealing his identity is still a vulnerability in its own right. He’d taken on his alias as soon as he got into piracy, trying to direct all of his enemies’ ire to Captain Faust and the Maharlika instead of to Javier and his loved ones. He explains as much to Karzan, regret flashing across his open face for just a brief second as he reflects that he’d taken the wrong precautions, at least in regards to his parents.

“I actually have four names and Faust is none of them. You’ll have to wait until at least after a second date to find out the others though,” he steers the conversation back to the matter at hand with a bit of playfulness, intentionally planting ideas about a future together. Javi’s charming nature and fearlessness make for a persuasive suitor.

“As to where we go from here…” the pause he takes is full of consideration. He’s honestly not sure. Does Karzan  _ do _ relationships? From what he’s heard around about him, the other man is as ruthless with his flings as he is on the battlefield. Karzan is here though, when he could’ve left before they even sorted out the lies—nevertheless hooked up on a rooftop and initiated an emotionally vulnerable conversation. Javi bets that that has to count for everything in this situation. 

“I think it’s pretty obvious I’ve had a crush on you since took a bullet for me,” he winces with light-hearted self-depreciation. The clashes they’d had in the past because of their confusion and rivalry seem funny and trivial in the hazy aftermath of their afternoon delight.

“I… really admire you,” he bites his lip and looks away for a second as his bare chest reveals his flush. Javi resists feeling like he’s revealing too much; Karzan will only give him as much as he gets. “I respected you before I met you and even when you frustrated me after. You’re a leader and a fighter that gives a shit, something that the galaxy is sorely lacking. You’re intelligent, strategic, and fierce.”

Karzan’s eyes widen but Javier presses on, gaze bright with a blazing, magnetic affection. “You’re the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. You make me want to be selfish and keep something for myself. And what I want to keep is you. What do  _ you _ want?”

—

Karzan is almost anticipating to be met with annoyance and frustration; he doesn't expect most people would be very receptive to a conversation like this right after such an intense round of sex. He may as well have completely ruined the afterglow, even irritated with himself for not being able to keep his mouth shut and enjoy a good thing while it lasts.

But maybe that's the whole problem: he has become greedy where it concerns Faust. If casual sex already lost its appeal to him before all of this, it is certainly ruined for him now. After experiencing what it's like to give himself to someone who knows him, maybe wants him because he knows him, how could Karzan possibly go back to fucking strangers? It's like comparing the flash of a spark to the light of a sun.

He cautiously watches the way Faust reacts to his question, surprised when he encounters none of what he expected: Faust sits down beside him, silent for a while as he ponders it. There's a flash of emotion, some sort of realization in his eyes that brightens them into something tender when he looks at Karzan—it leaves Karzan staring, heat flushing up his neck for reasons that have nothing to do with lust this time. 

No one has ever looked at him like that before.

Faust takes his wrist in hand with a gentle grip, then tells him he's not truly Faust. Karzan knew it was an alias, but he hadn't thought Faust would tell him his real name so soon. It's not his full name—that is apparently a promise for in the future—but it's much more than Karzan expected he would ever get.

Javier. It's almost tempting him to try it out on his tongue, to feel what it sounds like, but Faust—Javier, now, as Karzan is neither Maharlika nor family to call him Javi—doesn't give him a chance to.

“I think it’s pretty obvious I’ve had a crush on you since took a bullet for me,” he says, almost playfully as if it were an inside joke between them, but Karzan can't share his lighthearted approach: instantly, his mind gets stuck on the word crush and hangs there like an omni-tool glitching out and lagging on a screen, trying to load files too big for it to handle.

As Javier forges on with his confession, the words only barely register with Karzan whose blush has spread from his neck up to bloom across his whole face. He’s too flustered to do anything else but stare with wide eyes, until—

"You make me want to be selfish and keep something for myself," Javier states without any doubt, pure affection in his eyes, and Karzan suddenly feels weak, lightheaded, mind reeling. "And what I want to keep is you."

Javier wants Karzan to be his. 

The still functioning part of Karzan's brain that hasn't been stunned into silence tries to conceptualize it, put it into terms and definitions and conditions that he can rationally understand—a real, exclusive relationship—but in truth, his heart has already made its choice. Karzan doesn't listen to it very often when it comes to things like this, having trained himself to dismiss it as he focused solely on physical pleasures, but now it's screaming at him, impossible to ignore.

Karzan takes a moment to gather himself, looking down at the fingers resting around his wrist and on the back of his hand, fixing his gaze there. He’s not sure he'll be able to get a coherent thought out while facing the way Javier looks at him, and he has to make sure he does this right. There are no take-backs, not in a moment this fragile; a single wrong word would be enough to shatter it. 

"I've never had a relationship," he says quietly, still feeling the flush bright on his cheeks. "I never make any promises. Sticking around isn't in my nature, or... that's what I thought." 

He forces himself to meet Javier's gaze, even if it feels a little like taking a leap of faith, but he trusts Javier's sincerity. Trusts him with his heart, enough to take that leap. "It took me so long to trust you, to believe that you were real: no one so honest and good could possibly have survived for long. But then you proved me wrong, over and over again."

Now that he's staring back into Javier's eyes he finds himself unable to look away, feeling the words being pulled out of him without even realizing it.

"I thought I was doing fine on my own." Karzan's thoughts have been, one way or another, filled with Javier ever since they first met; it's far too late for him to try and back out now, even if he wanted to. "Now I wonder if I was living half a life without even knowing it, until I found you. I'm still not sure about what this means, but I know that I want you."

Karzan takes a steadying breath, feeling exposed like he never has before as he says his next words. 

"I want to try, Javier," he speaks softly, cradling the name in his mouth like a treasure. "For you."

—

Karzan is quiet for several long, heart pounding moments. Javi almost wants to squirm from the anxiety that grows in him the longer the silence stretches. Maybe he shouldn’t have showed his  _ whole _ hand so soon; Caelus would’ve definitely told him to play the long game instead of doing what he just did; Nyitea would’ve told him that Karzan is used to chasing so let him chase—

“I’ve never had a relationship,” Karzan’s words, almost whispered as they are, cut through the quickening pace of his thoughts and completely take over his focus. "I never make any promises. Sticking around isn't in my nature, or... that's what I thought." 

That checks out. Javi’s heart thunders and he can feel it across every inch of his skin. Is Karzan about to let him down gently? Tell him he’s just not cut out for a relationship? Javi’s already scrambling to put together a defense to that, but then Karzan meets his eyes again and his expression is just so…  _ exposed _ compared to what he normally lets the world see. 

Javier encourages him wordlessly to keep going, eyes wide as he leans in. He feels like once again they’re both standing on the edge of something, but instead of pushing each other off they’re about to fall together. 

Javi’s heart swoops when Karzan tells him he trusts him. More so than with their earlier activities, Javi feels triumphant. Now he could admit that he has been trying to impress Karzan since before they met. Along the way though, it turned into Javi needing Karzan to know that he is genuine: in his motives, his actions, and now, how he feels.

He’s frozen still as Karzan pushes through. He feels like he’s barely breathing; his whole body is tight with anticipation, waiting on every word that falls from Karzan’s lips like a parched man looking up at an incoming storm. A bright, giddy light starts to form behind Javi’s sternum as it becomes less and less likely that Karzan is about to say something he fears. Maybe his risk is about to pay off.

“I want to try, Javier. For you.” 

His heart squeezes and his throat closes up when he hears his name attached to such a wonderful sentiment. Karzan wants him back; not only that, he’s admitting to taking a leap of faith and trying. For  _ him _ . He tamps down the urge to burst up from his seat and whoop off the balcony, but he can’t help the wide, goofy grin that blooms across his face as Karzan’s words completely register. 

“Oh wow, really? That’s amazing,” he squeezes Karzan’s wrist once before maneuvering so that they’re clasping hands. He’s struck a little speechless. There’s a rare block in the fountain of words he usually has on hand. He’s just so… pleasantly surprised. He can’t believe the mindset he’d stepped onto this rooftop with, just for him to end up confessing his feelings and then hearing one back. The urge to whoop comes out as a laugh instead. The light in his chest bursts and he can almost imagine a sprinkling of something light and shimmery settle around him.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out once the bark of his laughter passes. “This isn’t funny or anything. I just laugh when I’m really happy. And after earth shattering orgasms. Right now both apply.”

He puts his other hand on top of the both of theirs, leaning forward earnestly. His grin is unwavering. “I’m so into you it’s ridiculous. It feels great to be able to say it. And knowing that you want me back is… Overwhelming? Exciting? Almost a little bit terrifying even though it’s what I want because now I  _ really _ don’t want to fuck up?”

He traces random patterns on Karzan’s arm as they both digest. Javi just lets himself sit in the vulnerability of the moment for a little bit, relishing in the certainty of it despite how anxious it makes him. In the back of his mind he knows that there’s a bunch of other shit waiting for them once they go downstairs, but right here and right now is pretty much… perfect.

An idea to run his hand through Karzan’s hair to comb out how mussed up it’s gotten springs up in his mind and he acts on it, because he can.  _ Wow. _ When he’s done he holds Karzan’s jaw in his hand again, their dark eyes softened with the intimate bubble they’ve created to surround them. 

“You asked me where we go from here and for me, what that looks like is that we keep kicking ass and taking down the man,” One of the reasons he’s so in deep with Karzan is because of his deep commitment and determination. Javi wants to not only witness it but be part of cultivating it, restoring it. And selfishly he wants that for himself. Someone that completely understands, that he won’t have to explain the biggest part of his life to, that can help him sort out not only his complex feelings about his role in the galaxy but also what to do and how.

“But we do it together.”

—

Seeing Javier smile and laugh like that in amazement and delight suddenly makes all of Karzan's agonizing from before more than worth it. He's still not certain of anything, feels much like he's blinded, navigating on feeling and hoping he doesn't trip and fall in the process, but he's not hesitant anymore now that he's made the decision. Getting to this point took a long time, making up his mind about it even longer, but now he’s finally committed to it, come what may.

Their clasped hands feel like an anchor of sorts for Karzan as he's enchanted by the look of happiness on Javier's face, in his eyes. No one has ever looked so beautiful to him until now, most of all because Karzan is the cause of it. He made Javier smile like that, made him this happy merely by confessing, and nothing has ever felt as pleasing as knowing that.

As if the floodgates have opened, Javier takes full advantage of the fact that they have both aired out their feelings as he grins so brightly Karzan is almost concerned it's going to get stuck on his face. He speaks his desire for Karzan out loud again, like he's unable to stop himself from saying it now that there are no more barriers between them, and it still makes Karzan flush to hear it: he's not sure he'll ever get used to it.

Yet Javier seems to share some of Karzan's own state of mind. The thrill of something new is undeniable, but with it inevitably comes the fear of losing it, of screwing it up. The rumors had nearly driven the two of them apart forever; had it not been for their crews, they wouldn't be here right now. That thought, now that they've both affirmed their relationship, is as terrifying as it is infuriating.

His gaze trails down to the tips of Javier's fingers tracing gentle patterns along his arm, and Karzan is entranced by the easy affection and how natural it feels, like they've already done this a hundred times before. It's just so right with Javier. Who would've thought the man who once busted his lip open could make him feel so safe and at ease?

Karzan feels a touch on his hair, looking up at Javier as he feels fingers brush through his curly locks. Then Javier’s hand shifts, lowering to cup his jaw and Karzan feels himself lean into it without even thinking about it. He’s almost tempted to shut his eyes and bask in the touch, when Javier breaks up the silence again and offers him reassurance—nothing, in essence, will change for them aside from their relationship. They’re both still committed to the same things, only just as Javier says, they’ll do it together instead of alone, like how Karzan had been living his life up until this point.

His initial response is one without words as he places his hand over the one Javier has along his jaw. Karzan turns his head to press his lips against the inner side of Javier’s wrist, gently kissing his pulse as if to thank his heart for beating.

“That was a given,” he says, gazing at Javier with a want that’s no longer purely lust but weighs so much heavier. Karzan would’ve thought finally having him would temper his desire, but if anything it has only grown because of it, like a taste of something delicious that he can’t get enough of. “I wouldn’t want to be together any other way.” 

He leans in, brushing an almost chaste kiss against Javier’s lips to savor it, pulling back slightly only to murmur, “So long as I can have you in between.”

His following kiss is not nearly as innocent, especially now that he knows there’s no need to hold back—yet knowing what Javier feels for him, it’s so much more intense, nearly dizzying. Once Karzan gets started he can’t seem to stop, knowing instantly that this is going to turn into an addiction as he slides his tongue against Javier’s lower lip, steals a taste of his mouth and only finds himself wanting more. 

Karzan all but climbs onto Javier’s lap, straddling his hips like he did Karzan’s before. He breaks the kiss between their lips so his mouth can map out the line of Javier’s jaw instead, down to his neck, reddening the soft skin as he kisses and sucks, determined to leave a mark. Javier is Karzan’s now as much as Karzan’s is Javier’s, and he wants Javier to know it in every way. 

His hips shift as he already feels his dick twitch with need from the rush of blood heating his body again, this time almost a little painful for how sensitive he still is from his orgasm. It makes him pull his lips off Javier just for a moment to take breath and look at him, the curve of his smile far from innocent. “Think you can go again?”

—

Javier thinks if he were any less pleased with the situation he would joke about how all it took for them to arrive at this point was get into each other’s pants. He knows it’s so much more than that though, so he saves that punch line for later, when their feelings are no longer so fresh and fragile.

He thinks his heart might be growing in size as he watches Karzan kiss the inside of his wrist, a touch initiated out of affection. With his style in battle, most of the things and people that touch him are meant to harm. It’s why he’s so prone to casual touches with his loved ones; subconsciously he needs the reinforcement that contact and touches can be comforting instead of something he needs to brace for.

Karzan touching him in that way is something he hadn’t even really considered these past few months, clouded as they have been by the more fiery aspects of their emotions and passions. It’s delightful though. Another pleasant surprise much like the rest of this evening, Javi considers, as Karzan reinforces his sweet response with even sweeter words and a new dimension to the heat in his eyes. Whatever Karzan had been hiding behind before is gone now, and like with a collapsed dam, everything he’d been holding back overflows. 

“I wouldn’t want to be together any other way,” Javi thinks he might never stop grinning at Karzan’s sentiment. He’s smiling even as he leans in for a kiss, shifting the shape of his lips at the last minute to return it. 

Javi’s answer seemed to be all Karzan needed to feel reassured about the direction they’re taking, because an almost impish attitude overtakes his… boyfriend? Partner? They’ll need to sort out labels later; he has it on good authority that whatever Karzan is about to propose is a much more worthy use of his time.

“So long as I can have you in between,” Javi doesn’t have time to let out a witty quip before Karzan’s lips close the negligible distance again, this time feeling more emblematic of the open floodgates between them. Kissing Karzan is a rush. Like the first few times he ever successfully called mass effect fields to his hands, when he was still somewhat in awe that he could even manage it but now wouldn’t stop just so he could prove how good at it he was. 

To want and be had is a thrill. He’ll keep giving himself to Karzan as long as he makes him feel like  _ this. _

Karzan shifts so that he’s sitting firmly in his lap. Javi’s hands immediately move to places he’s been itching to feel, one hand tracing each notch of Karzan’s spine and the other running fingers across the hair trailing from his belly button and disappearing under his waistband. 

Karzan moves his attention to his jaw, then his neck, and Javi tilts his head to expose the thick column of it to his lips. His breath stutters out of him as Karzan nips and sucks at his already heated skin, sending sizzling sparks from his mouth that rips through his insides and shoots straight into his dick. He rocks their hips together as a response, letting out a sound that’s more a whimper than a groan. He’d be embarrassed about it if he hadn’t just opened up his whole heart to Karzan and his response hadn’t been as emphatic as sitting in his lap and making out with him and telling him he wanted them to be together too.

This is his reality now though, Javi happily considers. Karzan seems intent to leave a mark and he certainly isn’t planning on stopping him. 

Karzan pulls back to give him an absolutely  _ devious _ smile, made all the more striking by the fact that now Javi will be the only one to receive those if he plays his cards right. Karzan’s expression is accompanied by a spoken challenge, one that Javi intends to meet. He hasn’t posed one that he hasn’t been able to overcome yet, after all. And all the challenges Karzan has been setting today have been his absolute pleasure to accept. Somehow, with Karzan looking at him like he’s settling in for a full course meal, he doubts this one will deviate from the pattern.

“I’m just getting started with you, Karzan,” he volleys back, equally devilish as he bucks his hips up against him to show the proof of it between his legs. Javi cranes his neck to catch his lips, tugging at his bottom lip.

He stands up slightly without breaking the kiss, bracing his arms around Karzan, as he lifts him up and then settles him down to lie on the sofa. He pulls away to take a moment to admire the view; Karzan leans back and stretches out in that enticing way he always has when he’s showing himself off to Javi. Now though, Karzan is all his to touch and play with.

Javi wants to kiss him everywhere, so he starts by placing open mouthed kisses against the muscle connecting his shoulder and his neck while one of his hands traces the lines of his obliques. Under him Karzan’s body reacts, their hips again resuming their rolling rhythm through the fabric of their pants. The friction is not  _ nearly _ enough, but he has time enough for that in a bit.

He makes his way to Karzan’s chest and trails the tip of his tongue up the flat of his sternum before dipping into the notch at the center of his collarbone. HIs hand trails up from Karzan’s side to catch one of his nipples in the V of his first two fingers—just light, teasing touches, meant to increase the sensory overload of the man under him. 

Javi kisses down Karzan’s abs and follows his happy trail to his waistband before nibbling and tasting the skin there. From where he is he drowns in Karzan’s natural scent. It’s the earthy, musky, slightly sweet scent that he first picked up on in Afterlife, but now it’s tinged with sex. It makes him feel incredibly satisfied to know that  _ he _ put that there.

Javi drops one last kiss below his belly button before lifting up to unbutton Karzan’s pants and shimmy both it and his underwear down and off his legs. He stands up and quickly shoves off his own pants, eager to get back to Karzan. Javi’s eyes dart across his body, not sure where to look now that he’s completely naked under him. His earlier comparisons to a statue were apt. Karzan is fucking heavenly. But now instead of marble, what his eyes are so admiringly observing is the flesh of a man.

And what a fucking  _ man. _

“You’re breathtaking,” he rumbles out almost reverently before running a hand slowly over his inner thigh. Karzan’s dick is standing at attention, already so hard despite having just come. It’s good to know that his appetite matches his own; he doesn’t think they’ll tire of each other’s bodies anytime soon.

He crouches down to take Karzan’s dick in his hand again, his face hovering just inches above the tip. Javi takes the opportunity to observe it more closely now that they’re not both wrapped up in the deepest throes of sex. Karzan is  _ big _ , and he already knows that if he were to wrap both of his fists around him that parts of his head would still poke out.

“I can’t wait for you to put this inside me,” he blurts out the words without thinking, eyes a little wide and all the more full with promise and arousal. “But for now we’ll have to make do with my mouth.”

There’s no other pretense as Javi licks the underside of Karzan’s dick, mouth open and eyes watching his face. Javi likes knowing that Karzan is watching him like this, when he’s glowing from one of the best orgasms of his life and now returning the favor.

His lips kiss the hard flesh of his shaft before wrapping around the head and suckling gently on the soft, smooth flesh. He grasps the base of him in his fist, squeezing in time with the writhing of his tongue as he swallows Karzan further and further until his lips touch his fist.

Eventually Javi closes his eyes, losing himself in the act of giving pleasure, especially to someone who so very much deserves it.

—

The sound of his name on Javier's tongue is as sweet as it is enticing, especially considering the promise that accompanies it. Javier tilts his hips up against Karzan's, pressing them together and letting Karzan feel exactly how eager he is for another round of this as their lips meet again, more hungrily this time.

Karzan feels Javier shift beneath him, though he doesn't quite realize what's happening—far too caught up in kissing Javier—until he finds himself lifted up, Javier's arms wrapped firmly around him, laying him out onto the sofa. If it was thrilling to be in control before, it's equally thrilling to give in and enjoy the show of strength; it's not a position Karzan finds himself in often. He's by no means a small man, and even when his partners were taller or more built than he was, he found himself being the more dominant one, mainly out of habit.

He does like being in control, very much so, but giving it up suits him just as well. He has never had a strong preference in either direction, though the latter has been something he has had few opportunities to explore. As Karzan stretches out invitingly across the sofa, enjoying the way Javier is eyeing him, he thinks he'll finally have a chance to do just that—and many times over, if the look in Javier's eyes is any indication.

The kisses Javier trails across the crook of his neck would've been a sweet caress were it not for the accompanying hands exploring Karzan's skin, riling him up so quickly that his semi-erection starts to ache in a way that Karzan likes. It's just a little too soon after his previous orgasm, but not so soon that it becomes excruciating; a sharp pleasure that has him rolling his hips up against Javier's for more while he clutches at his shoulders.

Javier does not linger long before his kisses start to trail downwards, tongue mapping out his collarbone, fingers teasing one of his nipples and making his spine tense with sensitivity. It takes all of Karzan's willpower to smother the sounds rising up to his mouth, biting on his lip and breathing out heavily through his nose. The lower Javier's lips go, however, the harder it becomes to resist.

It doesn't take long for Javier to reach his intended goal, less time still for Karzan's pants and underwear to come off, leaving him bare on the sofa before Javier's own clothes follow. 

Karzan might've gotten cold up on the rooftop were it not for the scorching heat shared between their bodies, Javier's words of admiration lighting his skin up while Javier's gaze travels over Karzan's form, as if trying to commit it to memory. Karzan returns a look of his own, hands falling down from Javier's shoulders to trail along his sides, to his hips, helping himself to an eyeful of the thick cock hanging heavy between Javier's legs, though he doesn't get long to admire it.

Javier runs a hand over Karzan's inner thigh, sliding up to take his dick in hand and nearly making Karzan squirm as he holds his breath, only barely suppressing the noise threatening to leave the back of his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut from the effort, still so painfully and wonderfully sensitive from before, and can't stop his hips from jumping up eagerly into Javier's grip.

“I can’t wait for you to put this inside me,” Javier states unexpectedly, the heated words making Karzan's erection throb with want as he imagines it; slowly working his cock inside, inch by inch, until he finally bottoms out and has Javier clinging to him, begging for Karzan to move, to fuck him like he needs.

As erotic as the fantasy is, though, it can't compare to watching Javier lean down and put his tongue on Karzan's dick, lips pressing against his shaft and making Karzan's breath catch. When Javier sucks onto the head of his cock, Karzan raises a hand to his mouth and bites down on the side of his fist to stop from making noise—he nearly fails as Javier takes him deeper into his mouth while his fingers work the base of his cock, the pain of pleasure nearly overpowering.

Javier is eager to please, but more than that, his sense of teasing Karzan’s sensitivity is almost intuitive; he’s a quick learner, figuring out exactly when he’s doing too much or too little, how to tease him and draw out his pleasure best. Karzan has scarcely been taken care of like this, not the way Javier seems devoted to bringing him pleasure, and were it not for the blowjob Karzan had already given him he might’ve wanted to flip their positions just to give it back in return.

Karzan's other hand clutches the edge of the sofa, and he's unable to tear his gaze away as he watches his length swallowed up in the wet heat of Javier's mouth, sucking on him and making his toes curl. Karzan is trying so hard not to make a sound that he can barely breathe, letting out quiet gasps as he tries to keep his hips still.

He won't come as quickly as he did before. Javier will have to wring it out of him, which is a thought far too arousing—a choked noise escapes his lips, quiet and small but desperate all the same as he lowers the hand he's biting on down to fist Javier's hair instead, just to have something to hold onto. Being at Javier’s mercy, he realizes distantly, is quickly becoming his new favorite thing.

"Mmm...." It's becoming more and more difficult to keep silent; Javier sucks a little harder, a little faster and Karzan throws his head back on the sofa, the cords of his neck pulled taut as a soft whine lips out of his throat. "Nnh..." 

He's sweating from the effort, chest heaving with his breaths as he starts to writhe beneath Javier, hips pushing up with each stroke of Javier's mouth around his shaft and fuck. Were it not for the fact that he already came once before he would've been coming right now, nearing the edge of it so closely he can almost taste it, the sizzling pain that accompanies it only making it so much better.

Karzan's eyes squeeze shut for a moment, mouth falling open in a soundless cry, sucking in a desperate breath. He doesn't even hear himself when the name escapes him in a trembling moan, too far gone to notice. "Javier...."

—

Karzan, Javier is learning, is almost as quiet in bed as he is in battle. Javi takes what he can get, training himself on how to interpret Karzan’s reactions and all the things he holds back in between. The cues as to what he likes are much more subtle than his own, so he takes special care to try to map out as many as he can. Soft gasps, choked breaths, clenched fists, hooded eyes all come together, interwoven in the pattern of Karzan’s pleasure. 

Javi loves this: the discovery of learning what makes someone feel good, showing them some of his more creative tricks, the approval and affirmation that comes with leaving someone both boneless and breathless. It’s been a while since he’s leveraged this tendency in bed with someone he cares about more than beating whatever challenge he had made up in his mind.

Now it’s truly about giving freely to someone that he trusts to reciprocate that intent. In bed he certainly knows that Karzan will never hesitate to return a pleasurable deed tenfold, so Javi doesn’t hold back as he lets Karzan’s body tell him what it needs. 

Plus, he’s got half a year’s worth of fantasies to live up to, if Karzan’s been thinking about Javi for as long as Javi has been thinking about him. 

He’s getting a little noisier now, graduating from restrained breaths to whines pinched in the back of his throat. One of Javi’s hands move aimlessly across whatever parts of Karzan it can reach: the dip of the V framing his pelvis, the firm muscles of his ass, the taper of his waist, his forearm, the crook of his elbow. 

The other one reaches between his own legs. He’s so turned on by sucking Karzan off that his dick jumps at the touch, pushing itself to respond to all the stimulus on this sofa. Javi pumps himself in hard, firm strokes as his mouth emulates the movement on Karzan. He’d barely taken the edge off his lust for the man beneath him earlier. He wants them both to soar on this rooftop, to welcome each other in the best way to this new thing that they agreed to work for together.

Javi fills his lungs before opening his throat up and taking him in so that his lips brush against the thick hairs surrounding the base of Karzan’s dick. He holds himself there for a few beats, just letting Karzan relish in the feeling of being completely surrounded, before he swallows, the muscles of his throat closing in on Karzan.  _ That _ gets a reaction as he feels the foreign slide of precum against the back walls of his mouth. Karzan’s hips jerk a little, pushing himself further in as he lets out the most delicious sound that Javi has ever heard in his life.

“ _ Javier _ …” a moan rips itself out of Karzan’s throat, sounding gravelly and overwhelmed and so fucking  _ sexy. _ He hadn’t told Karzan his name just to hear what it sounds like when Javi’s got his dick in his mouth, but fuck if it isn’t a major plus.

He opens his eyes immediately to look up at Karzan, who has his head thrown back against the sofa, open mouth now silent except for the harsh breaths that are forced in and out. Karzan looks like the picture of hedonism, with his skin slick with sweat, hand tightly grasping the cushion under him, neck stretched out and bared to emphasize just how vulnerable he is in this moment, lost as he is to the sensations and emotions that Javi inspires. He burns the image into his memory. He wants to remember this day forever.

Javi’s getting close again too, dick almost resisting the pinnacle of his orgasm as his fist keeps up his relentless pace. There’s a time and place for edging  _ later _ , he decides.

Right now he wants to come with Karzan.

Javi releases Karzan’s length from his mouth slowly, leaving behind as much moisture as he can. Their torsos slide together as Javi shifts so that he’s on one elbow and looking down at Karzan with a half-lidded, scorching smirk. Karzan looks dazed under him, slowly blinking as he registers the change in Javi’s position. 

“Remember when I pulled us into that storage room on Trident?” Javi murmurs lowly in Karzan’s ear, dropping wet, sloppy kisses where it meets his jaw. His free hand finds one of Karzan’s wrists and draws it away from his body to place it beside his head, pinning it there. “This is what I was thinking about when you were standing so close to me.”

Their bodies are touching almost head to toe; they line up in the way that Javi guessed they would. Javi rolls his hips into Karzan’s, the hard lengths of their dicks rubbing against each other. He’s so fucking ready and so sensitive and he can’t at all help the completely indecent groan that rasps out of his throat and into the skin on Karzan’s neck. 

He can’t remember the last time he felt this  _ close _ to someone. His breaths stick to Karzan as he loses himself in the gyrating glide of their overeager arousal, the way that Karzan’s hair tickles his chest, the new sounds that Javi can hear now that his ear is right next to his mouth. He wants to wrap himself in this, build a cocoon around the two of them that their enemies and their lies and their money can’t penetrate, somewhere where they’re both safe and happy together.

“Fuck— _ Karzan! _ ” Javi comes with a long, ripped tear of a moan, extending the syllables in Karzan’s name, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest as he loses control of his rhythm and spurts all over the both of them. This orgasm is no less blinding than the first and feels even more satisfying with the knowledge that Karzan plans on staying. He prolongs it a few beats, the slide even more slick with both of their cum as under him Karzan flies off the edge too. 

Javi collapses on top of Karzan once his body unclenches, uncaring of the mess they’ve made and weak from yet another orgasm that’s left his whole body feeling like it’s not even solid mass anymore. He tucks his chin against Karzan’s shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. The hand that was pinning Karzan’s wrist down moves to thread their fingers together as Javi kisses his neck languidly, feeling the racing pulse that matches his under his lips.

“You’re absolutely brilliant, Karzan. And mine,” he murmurs softly. Though no one is around them, these words are just for Karzan alone. “No taking it back now.” 

—

When Javier's lips pull back, releasing his aching member, Karzan is only distantly aware of it at first. His whole body is taut with tension, building steadily to his release; his perception has dimmed solely to the scorching heat Javier brings him, until he slowly realizes the tide of pleasure has stopped. 

When he blinks his eyes open he sees Javier move up his body, their chests touching together as Javier looks down at him with a mischievous smirk curling his lips. He leans down, whispering a reminder in his ear of Trident, when they'd been in the storage closet together and Karzan nearly forgot to breathe for how close they'd been standing.

His eyes flutter shut again as Javier spoils him with languid kisses beneath his ear, finding Karzan's wrist to pull it up and pin it to the sofa beside his head. Karzan's fingers curl into a fist, his other hand running through blindly through Javier's hair as their bodies slide together obscenely. The press of Javier's bare skin on his own is driving him insane with need; he had no idea something so simple could feel so indecently arousing. 

Javier rolls his hips against Karzan's, their hardened lengths trapped between them, sliding and rubbing up against each other—Karzan has very little space to move with Javier pressing down on him, but his back arches even so, pushing him even further against Javier with a wanton gasp. The hand he has in Javier's hair shifts, moving down to grab and squeeze Javier's ass as their hips start to grind together, finding a rhythm that's making Karzan see white behind his eyes.

All his senses are utterly consumed by Javier. The groan he breathes out against Karzan's neck shudders down his spine, the heat between them unbearable and yet somehow not enough, the scent of him usually fresh and breezy made heavier and heady with sweat and sex, the weight of his body against Karzan's covering him like a blanket—it's almost too much. Karzan can hardly stop the noises falling from his lips, small and quiet not because he's trying to smother them anymore, but because he can barely catch his breath.

He feels Javier's hips start to buck sharply against his own, moving harder, more desperately, right about to come. Karzan can only imagine how the strength behind those thrusts will feel once Javier holds him down and fucks him properly, a thought that tears a whimper from his throat as he clings to Javier, who falls apart completely and comes with Karzan's name in his mouth.

“Fuck— _ Karzan! _ "

It's the most erotic sound Karzan has ever heard, a lewd moan dragged from the depth of Javier's chest as he comes on top of him. Whatever flimsy composure Karzan still held onto crumbles as he throws a leg around Javier's hips, as if to pull him impossibly closer as his own release is ripped from him with a choked whimper, eyes rolling back in blinding pleasure as his whole body tenses and cum spills between them to coat their bellies.

In the aftermath they both collapse, Karzan sinking into the sofa while Javier is draped over him while they come down from their high, the sound of their breaths and pounding heartbeats the only thing filling the silence. Javier's fingers tangle between Karzan's while Karzan's leg slips off Javier's back to fall back down onto the sofa.

“You’re absolutely brilliant, Karzan," he hears Javier mutter between the feather-soft kisses to his neck, drawing a contented hum from his throat. "And mine. No taking it back now." 

"Not going to," Karzan rumbles, eyes still closed as he tilts his head down and presses a kiss to Javier's forehead. "I don't want to be anyone else's." 

He's only half-aware of what he's saying, though he means every word; it slips more easily from him in the aftermath of his fantastic orgasm. Truthfully, he could fall asleep like this, though he has a feeling this current position is going to cut off his blood circulation soon, what with Javier on top of him. 

That doesn't mean he can't enjoy the short while they left, though. Karzan rarely sleeps with anyone beside him. Feeling Javier's heartbeats beating against his chest until he can't distinguish between the two of them anymore, the warmth of Javier's skin against his, the sound of their breathing gradually slowing as they both cool down—it's all so much more intimate than Karzan is used to. Something so vulnerable would've usually made him run, but now he finds himself wrapping an arm around Javier's back, enjoying the moment of peace and comfort between them while it lasts.

Eventually, though, they both have to move again; not in the least because they need to clean themselves up before the cum starts drying up on their skin. Karzan waits until Javier moves off of him before he rights himself, still feeling a little dazed.

It's at that point his omni-tool—its armband discarded somewhere on the floor—pings several times, notifying him of multiple messages. Karzan exchanges a look with Javier, leaning down to scoop it off the ground as he casts a glance at his inbox. He notices a few that he apparently missed, probably because he'd been too caught up in Javier, but there are several recent ones.

"Looks like our absence has been noticed," Karzan mutters, frowning slightly at the various messages.

_ Valena [19:50] _

>>keep going cap im about to win this bet  
>>hell yes there goes the 1hr mark!  
>>ok u can stop now  
>>CAP UR GONNA COST ME THE POT  
>>SIR IM BEGGING  
>>THERES 869 CREDS ON THE LINE HERE  
>>Valena: 69....... haha nice  
>>Valena: ANYWAY PLEASE BE DOWNSTAIRS IN 15 MINS? PLEASE

Fifteen minutes, huh. Karzan glances at his other messages.

_ Min-ji [20:01] _

>>Who the hell has sex on a rooftop? Dude you have a whole CABIN on your ship!  
>>I can't believe i literally lost 50 creds bc you couldn't keep it in your pants. Thanks captain. Hope it was worth my hard-earned money.  
>>...Who am i kidding, it probably was

He'd ask her why she assumes he's had sex on the rooftop, but... considering his track record, it's a reasonable assumption. 

Finally, from Nura, all he has is a single message that consists of nothing but a kissy-face emoji. Of course.

Karzan heaves a sigh; though he's not eager to face his crew knowing that they know what he and Javier have been up to up here, they do need to start making plans about how to track down whoever has been spreading rumors about them. 

He casts a look at Javier, finding the frown on his face smoothing out and gaze softening without meaning to when their eyes meet.

Shit, Javier really messed him up.

"Let's head downstairs," he suggests, fighting the urge to smile that tugs at his lips as his eyes drink in the sight of Javier, still amazed at the way their evening turned out. "If Valena loses this bet, I'll never hear the end of it."


	11. BACK TO OMEGA IV

“Not going to,” he feels a soft kiss on his forehead and his chest flutters, just completely satisfied with the evening’s developments. “I don’t want to be anyone else’s.”

_ Wow. _

Javi hides his grin against Karzan’s skin and tightens the grip he has on his hand. He’s feeling a contradicting sense of both drowsiness and alertness, like his body is completely languid but his mind is still working to absorb and process everything from this evening. Javi just allows himself to sit in the intimacy of it all and lets the reflections pass over him, sliding fully into the afterglow like they hadn’t been able to earlier since they had things to clear up.

And he’s immensely relieved that they did; the roiling mix of anxiety, frustration, and doubt that had been washing over him since Karzan cut off contact was exhausting and set him on edge. He thanks his past self for not giving up and shooting his shot just one last time, otherwise he wouldn’t be here and now: wrapped up in a cocoon of affection after some of the best sex of his life, made the more sweeter because of who he is sharing the moment with.

Karzan, silent and thoughtful under him, seems content to bask in the moment too. Their breathing and pulses gradually return to their previous pace, though he knows that nothing else between them ever will now.

It feels both like it took forever to happen and that it happened so quickly he barely registered it. It seemed so natural and instinctive when they did finally decide to take the leap—what had kept them from just doing this the whole time?

He reasons that it might seem easy now but it took so long because they had to build trust.  _ That _ took bullets diverted, refugees saved, ribs broken, targets killed, and battles fought together. Karzan’s trust is  _ really _ hard-won, he reflects, as he internally tells himself he’ll do all he can to never lose it. What else could he earn that feels too precious to ever let go? 

He can’t wait to find out.

After an unknown length of time, manipulated by the effective shield this rooftop presented from the real world, Karzan squirms a little under him. Javi, lazy and sated after two rounds, realizes that he’s just been resting almost his whole weight on him and rises with a slightly sheepish grin. 

‘ _ Whoever’s on top does the clean up _ ,’ he thinks as he’s suddenly incredibly aware of the mess between their bodies.

He sacrifices his undershirt, smugly admiring how the combination of their pleasure shines white on Karzan’s tanned skin for one last second before wiping the fabric across the taut muscles of his stomach. He takes care of himself too before finding the rest of his clothes, a little clumsy because his legs feel like jelly—holy  _ fuck _ that was good. 

Javi hears the distinct pinging of several omni-tool messages coming in and looks over at Karzan, who’s scrolling through his display with a slight furrow between his thick brows.

“Looks like our absence has been noticed,” Karzan clarifies as Javi zips his jacket back up, leaving it slightly more open than perhaps he would’ve had he not been with Karzan. Javi puts his own omni-tool back on. If Karzan’s got messages then surely he does too.

Unsurprisingly enough, the crew’s group chat has been active. He skims through the new messages.

**Aviria** [19:21]  
Javi, please don’t be mad at us but you and Captain Nasri need to kiss and make up!! Tell me all about it later :eyes:

**Saritia** [19:22]  
Don’t tell us too much though. I really don’t need to know all that.

**Aviria** [19:22]  
Saritia when will you stop acting like you’re  _ not _ as invested as the rest of us are?

**Victoria** [19:22]  
Are we though? 🤔

**Nyitea** [19:23]  
You put in a bet just like everyone else, so yes 😌

**Victoria** [19:23]  
Oh right—Javi, can you wrap this up quick so I don’t lose out on 50 credits? 😂

**Aviria** [19:24]  
OMG Dr. Olaniyi you can’t just sway the results like that!! 😫

**Caelus** [19:24]  
Party foul—this is your first and only warning, doctor.

He switches his personal messages, eyes flitting to the current time. 21:02. Welp, they definitely did  _ not _ wrap it up. RIP Dr. Olaniyi’s money.

**Nyitea** [20:22]  
Having a good talk with the Captain there, Javi? Thanks for being so predictable. I already know what I’m doing with this pot money 😘

[20:46]  
Oh, so you’re  _ fucking _ fucking, huh? Neither of you ever stood a chance, honestly.

**Caelus** [20:52]  
Meet us downstairs when you’re done, the people are restless to get the official time. 

[20:55]  
And also to start taking down these liars, of course.

Javi chuckles at his crew’s antics, already knowing they’re about to walk into quite a ribbing downstairs. Well, let them have at it. There is absolutely no way that any of them can be as smug as  _ him _ right now.

But Caelus’ last sentiment brings him back to the real world. He sucks his cheeks in and makes a slightly annoyed sound. He’d almost forgotten about that whole shitshow, but his first mate is right. Whoever had been trying to drive him and Karzan apart needed to learn exactly why they shouldn’t have fucked with them. Preferably via his axe.

He glances over at Karzan to find that he’s already looking at him. Their eyes meet and Javi smiles and shrugs, the movement weighed by begrudging acceptance. 

"Let’s head downstairs,” Karzan is looking at him so softly and Javi soaks it all up—this feeling of newfound familiarity—even as they shift back into their roles and obligations as captains. “If Valena loses this bet, I'll never hear the end of it."

“Well, I  _ did _ say we’d keep kicking ass I guess,” Javi lets out a rueful chuckle. They’ll have to work the new rhythm of their lives out just as they did with their bodies, though Javi guesses this will take a lot more talking and time. 

“A couple things before we go though,” Javi closes the distance between him and Karzan to kiss him. An urge he acted on just because he could, and one last taste to tide him over until they can be alone again. One of his hands cradles Karzan’s head, the other wraps under his arm to clutch at his shoulder blade. It’s a slow and unhurried meeting of their lips as soft sighs leave them. With just a hint of their earlier heat, this kiss is about reassurance and bolstering the other as they forge on in their fight.

After a few leisurely beats Javi pulls away, murmuring in the small space between their mouths. “That was the first thing.”

He steps back a little as he takes a breath, looking at Karzan from under his eyelashes almost shyly. His arms come down from around Karzan so he can dig his hands into his pockets. 

“Second thing, I have to get something off my chest,” He’d forgotten about it just as he had about the lies, lost as he was in the rush of their newness. But now, with their descent back to earth, he knows he has to start this off on the right foot. 

It’s uncomfortable though; he hasn’t yet learned the right way to ask Karzan for things. 

“Can you promise me that you won’t just… cut me off again?” His eyes dart off to the side as he bites his lip nervously. “That really bothered me and made me question what I had done wrong since we finally were getting along.” 

He gathers his courage to look Karzan in the eyes again. “I know I’m a hot head but I want you to know you can just talk to me if you have a problem with me—or anything, okay?”

—

It appears Javier's crewmates have sent their own share of messages, which leads Karzan to conclude both the Immortals and the Maharlika may have been colluding on this scheme of theirs even more closely than he initially presumed. It's an unexpected development, mainly due to the history some of the Immortals have had working with other crews before—and there's a thought.

Before Karzan can ponder that matter further, however, Javier stops him by stating he has a couple of things to address before they head downstairs. Karzan waits for him to speak when instead Javier closes the distance between them, catching Karzan off-guard only for a moment before their lips meet and they both melt into the kiss. It's like stealing a last taste before having to go out and face the world, though it's soothing in that way as well; they won’t have to face it alone.

When Javier eventually breaks the kiss and pulls away, Karzan has to stop himself from chasing his lips, trying to refocus on what he's saying though his mind appears to be working more slowly than usual. Not entirely recovered yet from before, he presumes, which makes sense considering he went months without sex only to have two of the hottest orgasms in his life.

The vulnerability visible in Javier's face brings him back down to earth, however. He appears unusually timid, not at all what Karzan is used to seeing as he confesses to having something he needs to say. Karzan listens attentively, eyes widening slightly when he realizes what this is about. 

“Can you promise me that you won’t just… cut me off again?” 

While Javier looks up to meet Karzan's eyes at the end of his request, Karzan is reminded of what came to mind earlier. Javier is asking for honesty, for communication, and while Karzan is certain he'll never shut Javier out like that again, he can't help but linger on the fact that there are things Javier doesn't know about him yet. About his past, more specifically.

Especially because of how much time and effort it took for Karzan to trust him, it's something Javier not only deserves to know, but... Karzan realizes he wants Javier to know. He has never talked to anyone about it before, not even to Nura or Valena or Desius, but with Javier, the idea of baring the invisible scars that were left on him years ago doesn't frighten him so much anymore. 

Now, however, is not the right time for a conversation like that. Aside from ruining the mood, the memories are incredibly painful to recall, let alone talk about; it's something Karzan will have to work his way up to. For right now, he can at least give Javier something smaller—but no less significant—in return.

"I promise," he says without hesitation, reaching out to take Javier's hand in his own, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. "It was a mistake that I won't make again. Besides..." 

His eyes trail appreciatively over Javier's body again, not entirely certain it has sunk in yet that they're together now; free to kiss and touch each other whenever they want, and god does Karzan want. It seems even two rounds wasn't quite enough to sate him.

"After all of this, the only problem I could possibly think of having with you is you wearing too many clothes for my liking." 

Now that all of the emotional talk is over with for the present, it's nice to fall back onto something Karzan is more familiar with. Granted, the emotional side of things is something he'll have to work on, but in the meantime, there's nothing wrong with returning to his comfort zone.

He releases Javier's hand again to finish getting dressed up. The napkins and Javier's shirt can only help so much with the stickiness, though Karzan finds he doesn't entirely mind it. Not when the cause of it was so pleasing.

Though he feels sorry for whoever unknowingly uses that particular sofa again.

Business on the rooftop finished and both dressed in a mostly-presentable fashion (there's only so much Karzan can do about his messed up curls without product to aid him) they head down the stairs and step into the elevator to take them to the ground floor, where their crews are waiting for them. 

Even in the sizable space of the luxurious elevator, they stick close to each other, shoulders pressed together and fingers linking almost nonchalantly. It's almost juvenile, but now that Karzan has discovered this sort of casual affection, he can't seem to get enough of it. It's a different touch to what he is used to. It's neither entirely friendly, like the occasional pat on the back or clasp on his shoulder he gets from his crew, nor driven entirely by lust, like during a brief meeting with a temporary lover. It simply feels safe, soothing. Unconditional.

When the elevator arrives and they both (reluctantly) part to step outside, they're welcomed by the sight of Valena's head poking out from around the corner of a hallway.

She cries out triumphantly at the sight of them, not even bothering to wait before she disappears back into the hall, her shouts still audible for Karzan and Javier. "They're here, one minute before the deadline! Pay up, suckers!" 

Loud groaning and laughter follows; from the sounds of it, both of their crews have met up and are lounging around downstairs. 

Karzan pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He’s too relaxed to truly get annoyed, though he already feels worn-out just thinking about having to walk in there and suffer a lifetime worth of teasing. When he looks at Javier, though, all of those feelings of fatigue seem to dissipate—he suddenly can't remember why he even cared in the first place, when he already has all that he wants right by his side.

Still. Valena is never going to shut up about this.

"After you," Karzan says pointedly, fully willing to let Javier have the brunt of this; he doesn't seem at all bothered by it. If anything, he looks smug about it, in which case, Karzan will gladly let him have his little victory parade.

—

Javi feels but doesn’t see when Karzan takes his hand in his, eyes still fixated on his face as he watches his reaction. 

“I promise. It was a mistake I won’t make again,” At Karzan’s words, Javi’s face easily resumes its characteristic smile as relief flushes through him at how easy that ended up being. It goes a long way to show him that Karzan wasn’t just pulled in by the strong tide of their attraction and riding the wave of the afterglow—an insecurity he hadn’t even considered until just now, when it’s not as relevant. After all is said and done, he feels cared for. Javi squeezes Karzan’s hand in return, the short burst of his worry now being washed away by his giddiness.

“Besides…” Cockiness lifts one of Javi’s eyebrows as Karzan ogles him unsubtly. "After all of this, the only problem I could possibly think of having with you is you wearing too many clothes for my liking." 

Damn, the man is  _ insatiable _ . They need to hurry up and sort this mission out because he needs more than two hours alone with Karzan. Preferably somewhere with lockable doors, a bathroom, and a large stock of food and water, but he could make it work with less. Javi just shoots Karzan a wink before they both finish getting ready. 

Javi tidies up; he still doesn’t know who the fuck owns this place but his mother didn’t raise a man who let others clean up his mess. He replaces the throw pillows that have fallen off the sofa and drains their untouched tea in the planters. He’s about to do the same with the water in the teapot before he thinks better of it and pours some into a cup to swish it around in his mouth before spitting into some soil.

This is why they need a bathroom.

Another exciting new experience is this moment together, the clean up after the crest of the wave breaks. He chuckles as he helps Karzan try to get his hair back in order—unsuccessfully but it was mostly just another excuse to touch him anyway—and when Karzan picks something off of his jacket. The practice is futile; clearly their crews know what the fuck has been going on. But regardless it’s nice to touch casually like this, to be part of what comes after.

They take advantage of their last few moments alone in the elevator, sides lining up and hands finding each other. They mark the short ride with small, private smiles; they both feel the looming responsibilities they’ll have to face on the other side.

Loathe as he is to now have to share Karzan after just getting him, he thinks that there are worse people to face than their crews, who apparently have been masterminding their conflict resolution. Caelus was right. He really did just need to fuck Karzan.

He feels so good about it now that he might admit that to the turian’s face, just to see his shock.

They step away from each other as the elevator door slides open, neither needing any words to acknowledge the shift back into their roles as captains. Karzan is incredibly private and has rigidly maintained a certain reputation; though Javi doesn’t necessarily care as much who knows and how they figure it out, he can respect the need for subtlety and professionalism, even if it is just their crewmates they’re meeting.

One of the turian Immortals is waiting for them when they step out of the elevator. Valena, he remembers. She sticks around only long enough to confirm that it’s them before dashing back, presumably to where she came from, voice raised in victory as she calls out to the rest of the group. There’s a lively response, and Javi raises an eyebrow. Who all was in on this?

Beside him Karzan lets out a huff of a breath, the bridge of his nose firmly in between his fingertips. Karzan looks at him from the side and Javi throws back a shameless grin followed by a casual shrug. “Cat’s out of the bag, I guess.”

“After you,” Karzan tilts his chin towards the direction Valena had just gone. 

“Ah see, this is why I’m with you. Your apparent willingness to throw me to the wolves,” a joke wraps around his words as he steps close, taking advantage of the heat he knows he can stoke between them for a teasing second with a roguish wink. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you, Karzan.”

He lets his gaze linger for just a beat longer, the look speaking of both memory and promise, before turning and making his way down the hallway, Karzan close behind. Javi follows the sound of voices to what appears to be a large common area, decorated rather tastefully for being on Omega. A kitchen opens up to a living room, and though the colors are mainly dark and muted, the space looks clean and well maintained. 

Members of both the Immortals and the Maharlika are scattered in small groups across the room, chatting until they suddenly stop when Javi and Karzan finally enter the room. The silence lasts for all of half a second before voices clamor to be heard over the others.

“You two finally fucked and figured it out, I take it?” That’s Caelus’ double toned voice.

“Ha, look at them! The risk you took with that bet was calculated but man are you bad at math.” And that one is Aviria’s.

“Excuse me? I’m  _ excellent _ in all areas of math.” 

“Spirits Irdan, it’s a  _ joke. _ "

“Hope there’s some eggs around because we just stepped in the hen house,” Javi holds up both hands as he tries to follow all the conversation. He’s also hungry, and eggs sound delicious now that he thinks about it. 

The ruckus settles down as Javi and Karzan walk further into the room. When he steps fully into the kitchen, he finds a pizza box with his name on it. Oh thank god. His stomach rumbles, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten since his pre-dinner snack. Time to sate his other hunger.

“First,” he gestures around all the crew members gathered as the other hand opens the pizza box. “How’d you all end up working together? We haven’t done any joint calls in weeks, not since the rumors started.”

“Just because  _ you _ two couldn’t see what was going on doesn’t mean we fell for it too,” Nyitea cuts in as Javi takes a slice of pizza and slides the box close to Karzan. Javi hopes he knows how much he’s sacrificing for him, sharing his food after he tired him out with two intense rounds and no snack breaks in between. 

“Eh, we fell for it a little bit,” Aviria admits with a wince directed at the Immortals. “Sorry guys.”

“Alemu and I were chatting after Trident while Captain Nasri was in your quarters,” Hiroto says with a demeanor that’s too innocent not to be loaded. “He was in there for a while, so while Alemu waited we exchanged contacts and ended up adding more and more crewmates to the group chat.”

“When the rumors started I did more digging and found much the same as you,” Caelus explains. “It still didn’t completely add up though, so I just directly asked Nura whether or not the rumors were true. Of course they were denied, and we found out that presumably the same people had been spreading rumors about the Maharlika too.” 

“Why didn’t you just tell me after you found out then?” Javi asks in between bites.

Caelus simply gives him a deadpan look. “I tried. You were too dejectedly lovesick to hear anything past Captain Nasri’s name at the time.”

“Oh,” Javi flushes a little and hides it behind another bite of food. He’s already admitted as much to Karzan but it’s a little more embarrassing when it’s Caelus saying it in front of his partner.

“Don’t feel too bad, Captain Faust,” this time it’s Karzan’s first mate that interjects with a conspiratorial expression. “Karzan was much the same even when he and I split up for his ‘meeting.’”

Oh, Danari is about to be his inside track on all things juicy when it comes to Karzan, he can already tell. 

“Speaking of,” Nyitea raises an eyebrow at him, an almost intimidatingly devious look in the sparkle of her eyes. “How’d the ‘meeting’ go?”

“Yeah, you were gone for basically  _ two _ hours!” Aviria leans in, clearly expecting a story.

“Not  _ quite _ two hours,” Valena clarifies with a satisfied smirk. “Thanks for your contribution to my credits balance, everyone.”

“I could’ve gone for more than two hours if I knew we were being timed,” Javi verbalizes his thoughts almost absently, trying to break some sort of record he didn’t even know existed and for which the window has already passed anyway. “Maybe if you weren’t doing that thing with your tong—”

“ _ Javier _ ,” Karzan hisses next to him. “Stop.”

Javi feels the room’s collective eyebrows raise as Karzan says his real name out loud. Well  _ that _ is certainly a tell, more so than any admission of fucking.

“Oh, so he’s  _ Javier _ now?” Kedir speaks up with a shit-eating grin. Karzan glares daggers at him. 

“Technically, I’ve  _ been _ Javier,” he catches the quip meant for Karzan and throws it back just as easily. “Wanna see my birth certificate?”

“Javi, you told him your name!” Aviria cuts in, excitement bubbling up from her like she’s reached the climax of one of her romance novels. “Spirits—does this mean you’re together now?”

Everyone in the room looks at him, hanging on for an answer. He lets the anticipation sit—he is a showman after all—before his face breaks into a grin and he nods.

The chatter roars up again, Aviria’s squeal cutting through it all. They all seem incredibly happy for the two of them. He’s grateful that Karzan seems to have had a solid support system all these years and that their crews already seem to be meshing well. They’ll be working more closely together now after all, and Javi looks forward to learning more about each of the Immortals and fitting the puzzle pieces of their strengths, weaknesses, and motivations with his crew. They clamor for answers but Javi holds up a hand again.

“Thank you all for your part in helping Karzan and I,” There are more titters and looks as a result of the first name address but he presses on. “—get our heads out of our asses and for connecting the dots when we couldn’t. That’s what great teams do and I appreciate knowing you all have our back.” 

He smiles genuinely and makes eye contact with everyone in the room. He truly owes so much to them being such busy bodies. If it wasn’t for them, he’d still be upset and confused about where he stood with Karzan, and would’ve been that much closer to missing out on the opportunity completely.

“But unfortunately our little spat’s already wasted a bunch of time,” It’s back to business now. “We need to get started on finding the fuckers who’ve been lying about us because a) the timing is too suspect and b) I’m racing Karzan to see who can kill them first.” 

He throws that last one out as a surprise challenge and turns to the side a little to smirk at Karzan, already looking forward to entering the battlefield with him under a completely different context.

—

It's apparent that much like Karzan, Javier seems intent to take every opportunity to rile him up. In the past, this would be in the form of mocking taunts, meant to be a slight to the other's pride, but Karzan must say he much prefers the suggestive undertone to the teasing as Javier steps close and winks at him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you, Karzan.”

Had their crews not been waiting for them, Karzan would've hooked his fingers in the neckline of Javier's hoodie and pulled him even closer, but the time for that has ended. Right now, their focus needs to be on their next—joint—mission.

Javier takes the lead into the hallway, which ends in a large living space where Immortals and Maharlika alike are spread around in small groups, chatting and seeming to all be getting along. The silence that ensues when Karzan and Javier enter, however, is a notable one. Thankfully, it doesn't last for long. 

Karzan will never understand why their crews seem to be so invested in their personal lives. He supposes it comes from a place of good intent. He has had many conversations with Nura about his rather promiscuous, no-strings-attached approach to sex, completely absent of romance. 

Such discussions always turned into arguments. Karzan could acknowledge to himself that his approach might not be the most healthy, not in the least because of the literal health risks attached—though he was always extremely careful on that front—but having Nura lecture him on it had been a slight to his pride, which he never took well. He'd been stubborn for the longest time about not seeing the point in a relationship when he could satisfy all his desires with his current lifestyle, but after Javier, he realizes how painfully narrow his perspective has been.

Javier is the only person he has ever met that Karzan could ever imagine sharing so much of himself with, both because of how similar and how different they are. It's a balance Karzan hadn't even realized he'd been missing, but considering how fixated he became on Javier from the moment they met, perhaps he'd always been aware of it on a subconscious level.

Karzan takes in the way Javier addresses their crews, going along with the relaxed atmosphere as he asks after how they managed to plan all of this. Were it Karzan, it might've ended up looking more like an interrogation rather than a friendly, easy-flowing conversation. The differences are even apparent in the way the Immortals carry themselves, not as talkative as the Maharlika, more observant—it lends itself to the way they operate—save for a few obvious exceptions.

While he chats with the crew, Javier immediately hones in on the pizza left on the kitchen counter. He is gallant enough to slide the pizza box Karzan's way, who shoots him an amused look and slides it right back. Their rooftop rendezvous is hardly enough for him to work up an appetite, though he suspects Javier might simply be a big eater, if the way he devours the pizza is any indication.

Karzan catches Nura staring at him with a knowing smile, and his amused expression immediately straightens again as he averts his gaze. The last thing he needs is his first mate cooing over him now that he has entered his first real relationship.

“Why didn’t you just tell me after you found out then?” Javier asks his own first mate, Karzan not having heard the first part due to being distracted, though this question catches his attention.

“I tried," Caelus replies dryly. "You were too dejectedly lovesick to hear anything past Captain Nasri’s name at the time.”

Karzan arches his brows, looking over at Javier who's trying to hide his flush behind his slice of pizza. Lovesick. The word is accompanied by a strange, two-sided feeling of mild guilt and intense satisfaction.

“Don’t feel too bad, Captain Faust,” Nura chimes in, ignoring the frown Karzan casts in her direction. “Karzan was much the same even when he and I split up for his ‘meeting.’”

Karzan stiffens, looking away and avoiding all eye-contact as he instead focuses on a blue vase sitting on a stand in the corner of the room. The swirling patterns painted around the rim are suddenly incredibly interesting. 

The conversation only gets more embarrassing from there, especially considering Javier seems to have absolutely no filter, which leads to Karzan making the mistake of using his name. That gives them away completely, and Karzan silently suffers the excitement that erupts afterwards. He dutifully evades looking at anyone while Javier confirms their relationship to the crew, keeping his contentment on that point private. 

Javier goes on to lead into the mission they have planned, although he tacks on a challenge at the end of it. Karzan sighs with exasperation (and an unintentional hint of fondness), refocusing on the matter at hand.

"I'm sure you've already exchanged information amongst yourselves," Karzan states, addressing the room in cool, professional tones. "Both our crews were targeted with rumors. To track down the source, we'll need to pinpoint how these rumors were spread; did any of our contacts specify where they got these rumors from?"

The lack of a response says it all, which is frustrating to hear; in hindsight, the set-up was so obvious.

"Clearly, that particular angle may be a dead end," Karzan reasons out loud, making sure everyone is following his line of thinking. "It's likely our contacts received second, maybe third-hand information themselves. We'll have to doublecheck to make sure, but from the sounds of it, trying to chase after the rumor-mill through our network will be near impossible." 

"Could we not use the supposed evidence to track down leads?" Laenan suggests. 

"Like those faked pictures of Javier," Karzan infers, considering it. "Kalot, think you could get something out of those?" 

His krogan engineer and resident hacker nods. "I'll find you a lead, captain." 

"What about the vid of Harris?" Nura suggests. 

“The merc?” Caelus shakes his head. "I turned the meta-data inside out and found nothing. Whoever covered their tracks, they did it well." 

"Maybe we need a different approach to the vid," Karzan muses, thinking it over. "The vid data might not tell us anything new, but the man in the vid might. I would bet it was shot recently, and with an incentive, or Harris wouldn't have risked toying with the Immortals' name.” 

"You think he was told to make that vid by someone?" 

"It's an educated guess." Karzan frowns. "I could be wrong, but either way, we'll have to confront Harris to find out." 

The crews hammer out the details of their approach from that point on: Harris is their main lead—inevitably turned into a race between the two crews to see who can get to him first—while their secondary focus is trying to track down the origins of the faked pictures as well as make inquiries of their contacts to try and figure out how the rumors spread among their circles. With both the Immortals and Maharlika working on it, they'll be certain to turn up something sooner or later.

Having sorted that out, though, there is little reason for them to remain on Omega any longer. Usually Karzan would've thought their pitstop to have been long enough as is, but as the crews get ready to head out to their respective ships, he shares a look with Javier, both of them aware they'll have to part for a short while.

Karzan is distantly aware of a few of the crewmembers ushering the others out the door, leaving him and Javier alone in the common room. Having been given some privacy, though temporary, Karzan feels the need to make full use of it as he turns to Javier, eyes flitting over his face.

A slight smile graces his lips as he notices a bit of tomato sauce from the pizza Javier ate earlier smeared on the corner of his mouth. Karzan wipes it off gently with his thumb before he leans in and kisses Javier; short-lived but no less eager for it as he commits the feeling of Javier's lips to memory.

When he pulls back, Karzan smirks. "I'll call you," he says, repeating his words from the last time they parted, only this time he very much means the suggestive implication behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. 
> 
> Up next, the captains' first joint mission.


End file.
